by Sarah Gilman
You can’t have everything, or so they said.
But something inside Wren rebelled from the ultimatum. Fuck that, a voice in his mind said. You’d really let her go?
No.
He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Ginger’s new number.
“Wren?” Halfway through the first ring, her voice smoothed over him like a balm.
“Gin, my father is safe. He’s going to be okay.”
“Thank God!”
“I want to see you as soon as we get back. Meet us at the house?”
“I’ll be there,” she said, “but don’t you need time with your father?”
“Yes, but I need you, too.”
He needed her. He couldn’t wait to see her, to hold her in his arms and tell her just how much he cared for her.
She cleared her throat. “And Lark?”
Wren’s chest constricted. “Vin is tracking him now. If anything changes, I’ll call you.”
“Okay.” Her voice shook. She recovered with a deep breath. “See you soon.”
Wren disconnected the call and noticed Devin watching him out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable.
Wren held the demon’s gaze. “Devin?”
“Yeah?”
Wren fought the fatigue and sat up. He hoped that he didn’t look as weak as he felt, that he looked worthy. “When Lark no longer soils the face of the earth, I’m going to ask Ginger to be my mate. I’d like to have your blessing.”
Devin’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. A silent moment passed. And another. The demon’s eyes narrowed and he tapped his fingers on his knee.
“Devin?”
The corners of the Guardian’s mouth twitched and he finally spoke, his voice thick. “She’s all I have, so I have to make you sweat for a minute.” Devin leaned forward, the grin still in place but his eyes serious. “You know the drill: you make her cry, I make you cry. Guardian or no, I’ll string you up by your pinfeathers if you break her heart.”
“I don’t want a fling, I want her as my bonded mate. The only one I’ll ever have. You know how it works.”
“Yes, I’m aware of how the bonding process works.” Devin paused again and lost the bemused smirk. After another long moment he held out his hand. “Of course you have my blessing, Wren.”
“Thank you.”
“You may not realize it, but you wear your entire heart on your sleeve. She does, too. Separating you at the house was like pulling my own fangs out. Even before Ginger saw the ghost, I had gone up to Vin’s office to plot an alternative to leaving.”
Wren cursed. “She is not safe around me as long as Lark lives. If Vin fails today, you must take her back to Haven. I need her safe.”
Devin paused, his expression thoughtful. “I wouldn’t have respected you if you had not put her safety first and tried to send her away. But as long as Lark lives, you and your father will be in ceaseless danger. There is more than one way Lark can shove a dagger through my daughter’s heart.”
“Grieving for me is not comparable to being tortured by that monster.”
Devin scoffed. “My daughter cares for everything that moves. But when she loves, she loves fiercely. For her, your loss could well be just as bad as physical torture. But I won’t tolerate either scenario.”
Wren ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll kill Lark with my bare hands to see that he never hurts her, in any way, even though he doesn’t deserve the quick death my psychic gift will give him.”
Devin rubbed his chin. “Hopefully, Vin will cut the bastard down. Vin is a ruthless son of a bitch. If anyone can take Lark, he can.”
“Yes…” The exhaustion pushed Wren back down to the blankets. “I need to sleep.”
Devin nodded. “Rest. It’s a long trip back to Sanctuary. I’ll be keeping watch.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Devin said, echoing Wren’s response to his thanks for healing Ginger’s gunshot wound.
Wren settled down at his father’s side, covered his head with his wing, and shut his eyes. He focused on the hum of the tires on pavement, loud in his downturned ear, to calm his thoughts. Exhaustion grabbed him like quicksand, and he let his consciousness go.
Chapter Sixteen
Ginger paced around the living area of Wren’s home.
And paced and paced.
The sun had risen high, leaving a stunning, matte blue sky in its wake. A pair of Guardians patrolled outside, and an occasional whistle pierced the air, the all-clear signal. Ginger ignored the pillow and blanket on the couch. Even though she hadn’t slept since Vin’s office, she couldn’t rest or sit still. She needed movement to keep her from writhing in her own skin. She needed to see Wren, needed to have him back. Safe. On the phone, his voice had been thin, exhaustion clear in every word. Although Raphael had been freed, whatever had gone down had shaken Wren.
With a heavy sigh, she headed for the kitchen.
After Wren’s call, Ginger had hauled a mountain of supplies from the town hall to the house on a four-wheeler: freshly laundered bedding and clothes, toiletries, and food. The Guardians had prepared the supplies, but she took over the task, needing to keep busy.
Ginger spread out the various food items on the counter, feeling lost. Neither a good nor a bad cook, she’d never cared one way or the other about her culinary skills while living by herself. She had simple tastes. Salad, sandwiches, soup. When she wanted something fancier, she went out. She didn’t know what Wren or his father would feel like eating, if anything, but she wanted warm food available for them, so she rolled up her sleeves.
Ginger had all the fixings for Italian food, even fresh mozzarella cheese made in the colony, and decided on baked ziti. She couldn’t go wrong with baked ziti, and it would keep warm for hours in the oven. She tied her hair back and got to work.
Ziti in the oven and her confidence soaring, she attacked a butternut squash, using her pent up energy to render the thing into tiny cubes. She knew the recipe for butternut squash bisque by heart, even though she’d never made it before. She’d watched Devin make it hundreds of times; it had been a favorite of theirs when she’d been a child.
Devin’s shifts as one of Haven’s highest-ranking Guardians lasted all night long, while Ginger slept, and all day, while she attended school. But he’d sloughed off his heavily armed persona every evening, becoming a domestic, doting, single parent. While they’d had their rough times—what single father and daughter didn’t?—Ginger had a blessed childhood. She and Devin made a good team.
The scent of the butternut squash mingling with the apples, onions, and thyme brought with it that feeling of home and family. This feeling of comfort…she felt this in Wren’s arms.
Lark still roamed free. But it wasn’t over, Wren had promised. Chest aching, Ginger turned the heat under the soup down to simmer. She prayed he was right.
She tapped her foot and resumed pacing. Wandering through the living area, she passed the photos on the bookshelf. Several empty frames rested next to a thin box. A note stuck to the front of the box simply read “L.”
Lark? Certainly the family’s Guardian would appear in some photos. Had Jac and Lexine hidden the pictures in the box? Curiosity leading the way, she took the box down, sat in the chair, and removed the dusty lid.
Sure enough, the photo on top of the stack showed Raphael, Kora and Wren in front of the house, with a heavily armed demon at Raphael’s side.
Ginger stared. An acute tremor quaked through her body and the box fell to the floor, photos scattering across the throw rugs. Her eyes, now stinging with tears, flitted from one shot to another, the familiar, redheaded demon smiling back at her from each one.
Her spirit messenger.
She’d been speaking to Lark.
§
Wren woke with a start, the weight of a hand on his wing. He jerked away, a reflex, but when he lifted his wing from his face, a pair of silver eyes stared back at him in the dim light.
“Wren.” Raphael lay propped up on his elbow. “It’s you—”
Wren lunged forward and wrapped his arms around his father’s shoulders. Despite Raphael’s frail condition, he gripped Wren back with crushing strength.
“Wren, my son, Wren…”
Devin moved as far away as the tiny space would allow, blending into the shadows in the way only a demon could, giving them his back.
“Where are we? Are we safe?” Raphael’s voice thinned.
“We’re safe.” Wren pulled back enough to see his father’s face. “We’re on our way back to Sanctuary, escorted by two dozen Guardians.”
“Lark?”
“On the run, but the demons are on his tail. We’re waiting for news.”
Raphael slumped back into the blankets, his expression tense and his breathing rapid and shallow. Wren tapped into his healing talent and searched for an injury he’d missed, but sensed nothing.
“I don’t want to be inside anymore…” Raphael said, his voice edged with hysteria. “I can’t be in here. Son, please, I need to be outside.”
Wren gripped his father’s shoulder and lifted his gaze to the demon.
Devin lifted his cell phone to his ear. He spoke under his breath and the next second the van began to slow.
“We’re stopping,” Devin said. “We’re in the forest surrounding the colony, but we’re still twenty miles away.”
“Let me out,” Raphael whispered, a death grip on Wren’s hand.
The van halted, and Devin threw open the back door, revealing the blue sky above the road and the color-rich foliage of the trees on either side. Afternoon forest air rushed into the van, rich with the scents of autumn and earth.
“Thank you.” Raphael’s throat worked. He pushed the blankets away and got to his feet, unsteady. He leaned on Wren.
“You need to rest.” Wren picked up a blanket and draped it over his father’s wings and shoulders. His own anxiety from being in the windowless container didn’t hold a candle to his father’s state of mind, but a couple of hours was not enough rest after such an extensive healing, after so much trauma. His father needed a proper bed, warmth, and food.
Raphael tugged Wren toward the door. Devin had pulled out a steel ramp and now paced around outside, scanning the trees. Wren guided his father down to the packed earth of the road.
Raphael squinted when the sun hit his face.
Wren watched his father warily. Still covered in blood, Raphael clung to Wren’s arm, his head thrown back to stare at the sky. Eighteen years in a small underground room…would his father recover from such an experience?
“Father?”
Raphael dropped his gaze from the vast blue and met Wren’s stare, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. “I never want to be shut in again.”
“You won’t be. But I want to take you home, Father. Are you okay with going back to the house?”
A hint of a smile pulled on Raphael’s pale lips. “Home?”
“Home.”
Raphael nodded. “Yes, son, I’ll be okay. The windows, and the memories. I lived with your mother in that house for fourteen years and with you for ten. I want to go…home.”
Wren tried to lead him back toward the van, but his father broke away and stepped back.
“Father, please, you’re freezing.”
Raphael held his ground. “I thought I’d never get to see you grown up. Let me look at you for a moment.”
Wren grudgingly stayed in place.
Raphael grimaced. “Your wing? When I saw you in those woods, that traitor cutting into your back, I feared the worst. I couldn’t see how bad the damage was. Are you able to fly?”
“I’m fine, Father.” Wren extended his wings to their full span and shook them out. The morning sun behind him cast long shadows across the ground, past where his father stood.
“Thank God.” A tear slid down Raphael’s cheek.
“Thank God, I have you back.” Wren folded his wings and returned to his father’s side. “I thought I lost you that night. I’m so sorry, Father. I would have come for you long ago. I never would have let them keep you in that hole if I’d known—”
“Wren, stop,” Raphael whispered. “I know. It’s not your fault.”
“But—”
“I love you, my son.”
Wren grasped his father’s shoulders. “And I love you. Let’s go home now. I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”
Raphael’s eyes widened. “I’m too heavy—”
Wren didn’t point out how much weight Raphael had lost. “I’m strong enough, and it’s not far.”
Raphael nodded, his eyes brightening.
“Dev,” Wren called over his shoulder. “We’ll meet you back at the house.”
When Devin faced Wren, Raphael stared.
“Jett…” Raphael rubbed his face. “Devin!”
Devin stood in their midst a second later. “Yes, Raphael?”
Wren opened his mouth to ask how he knew Devin, but his father spoke first, urgency in his voice.
“One of the mercenaries at the house. Jett. I don’t know his human surname, but it must be fake, anyway. He’s a demon. You have to help him.”
Devin’s brow furrowed. “All three mercenaries on site were dead—”
“No. I healed his gunshot wound; he was sleeping. He helped me escape. I don’t know his story, but I don’t think he was working for Lark of his own free will. His fangs were gone.”
Devin nodded, his mouth a thin line. “Okay, you two, go straight back to the house. We’ll go back and get Jett.”
“Thank you, Guardian.”
“Dev?” Wren jumped in as the demon turned away.
“Yeah?” Devin glanced back.
Wren held his gaze. “Be careful.”
The corner of Devin’s mouth quirked. “Sure thing. Tell my daughter I’ll be back soon.” Devin pulled out his cell phone and moved away.
Raphael arched an eyebrow. “His daughter?”
Wren nodded. “Ginger. She’s waiting for us at the house.”
“Is she your mate?” Raphael rested a hand on Wren’s shoulder.
Wren shoved his fingers through his hair. “No. I want her as my mate. But I can’t ask it of her, not with Lark at large. If he were to find out about us…”
Raphael’s face fell. “I…I was there when he wrote that note, threatening you and everyone close to you. He made me read it.”
Pain seared across Wren’s chest. “He left that note with Mother’s…body. He didn’t…”
Raphael shut his eyes. “Yes. He made me watch. All of it.”
Wren sagged, and his mouth went dry. “That son of a bitch.”
“Son,” Raphael said, his voice nothing but air. “Try not to think about it.” He pulled Wren close, and they stood there for a long moment.
“He’ll pay for what he’s done, Father.”
Raphael let out a heavy sigh and wiped at his eyes. “Let’s not talk about Lark anymore. Let’s go. I want to meet your beloved.”
Wren led his father back to the van and they climbed a built-in ladder to the roof. He pulled his father into a tight hug and leapt off the edge. Pushing his body to its limit, he kept them off the ground and gained altitude. Shaking, Raphael gripped Wren’s shoulders as they ascended above the trees and gained speed.
Wren climbed as high as the oxygen levels allowed, then soared. The air currents provided perfect support for the extra weight.
“I used to carry you like this all the time.” Despite the wind, Wren heard his father’s quiet voice in his ear. “Every morning at dawn, I’d carry you in this same airspace. Son, I’m sorry.”
Wren turned his head to meet his father’s gaze. “What on earth for?”
“I should have been there to teach you to fly.”
“But you did. Like you just said, every morning at dawn. When my adult feathers grew in, I knew exactly what to do. Well…” A laugh escape his throat. “I thought I did, anyway. I
fell on my face more times than I could count, but I learned by remembering what you taught me by example.”
“How old were you?”
“I finished growing in my adult feathers a week after my thirteenth birthday.”
“And your first sustained flight?”
“Three weeks later.”
Raphael smiled. “That’s very good, my son. A record perhaps. I’m so proud of you.”
The lake at the center of Sanctuary came into view. Wren angled his wings and sent them into a steep dive. His father shook in exhilarated laughter, so Wren ascended and dove a few times for good measure, then circled the colony, skimming the treetops and chasing after a flock of ravens.
But the sun sank low in the sky and the temperature dropped as a strong breeze kicked up. Raphael shivered. Wren banked and aimed for the house.
“Welcome home, Father.”
Chapter Seventeen
Jett’s sensitive ears detected the demons in the forest. His pursuers weren’t trying for silence. They even called his name, apparently under the impression he would welcome their help. Raphael’s doing?
Thanks, but no thanks, Raphael. Jett stayed still, hidden in a dense thicket. Deep in a wetland, surrounded by swamps, streams, and small ponds, he had thoroughly masked his scent trail. He’d wait. The demon search party would move on soon enough.
Their presence did provide Jett with a degree of relief. They wouldn’t be so brazen in their hunt if there was a chance Lark would hear. That monster demon had to be miles away. Jett let out a long exhale. As soon as Raphael’s people cleared out, he’d make a run for—
“Jett?” a voice called from only yards away.
Motherfucker! Jett remained as still as the bushes around him, clenching his teeth and his fists.
“Jett?” Twigs snapped as the demon moved closer to the thicket. “Are you hurt—”
Jett launched out of his low crouch and collided with the other demon. They crashed to the forest floor. A growl rumbled low in Jett’s throat and his upper lip curled back, even though he no longer had fangs to bare at his opponent.
“Christ!” The other demon twisted and threw Jett onto the ground, his own fangs bared in a furious hiss. Sunlight filtering through the canopy gleamed off beads of venom.
