by Sarah Gilman
The poacher scrambled to his feet and lunged. Ginger shouted, but Trinity persisted with the knife. The human landed on the archangel’s back and forced her down into the dirt at Ginger’s side, both hands wrapped around her neck.
Cursing, Ginger wrenched her arms. Trinity hadn’t cut all the way through the ropes, but had loosened them enough for Ginger to wiggle free. Partially covered by Trinity’s wing as the archangel struggled, Ginger reached up and seized the poacher’s wrist.
She saw Wren’s face in her mind’s eye as she let the deadly heat gather on her skin. Not a single flicker of regret burdened her as the poacher screamed and his skin burned under her hand.
“Devil,” she spat at him as his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed on Trinity’s back. He jerked as if suffering a sort of seizure, then lay still, his eyes and mouth gaping up at the forest canopy.
Trinity struggled under the body but Ginger sat on the poacher’s back, pinning the archangel to the ground. Ginger put both her feet on an outstretched wing. Furious brown eyes stared up from under long, curled lashes.
“Get off, halfling!” Trinity snapped.
Ginger leaned forward, wondering briefly how Trinity knew of her heritage. But only one thing mattered at the moment. Tears ran in hot lines down Ginger’s cold skin. “What happened to my mate?”
Trinity dropped her head to the forest floor. “What do you think? He’s dead. Can’t you tell?”
Ginger covered her chest with her hand. Wren had said the mating bond would persist after a death, but would assume an eerie quality, like sensations from a missing limb. A knot throbbed near her heart. Focusing on that discomfort, she searched for information. Was Wren nearby? In pain? Hungry? Cold? Anything?
Nothing. The sensation in her chest took on a pins and needles quality. A sob hitched in Ginger’s throat. “You…you killed my mate.”
“The poachers—”
“You are as guilty as they are! Don’t give me that crap about protecting yourself. You were walking around unbound. You could have escaped instead of leading them to us. You could have dropped them when you flew them to that mountaintop—”
“No.” Trinity’s voice was a growl. “If they had your mate locked away somewhere, you’d have done no different.”
Ginger paused, a fresh wave of sickness washing over her stomach. “You’re mated?”
“To a human, for three years,” Trinity murmured. “He insisted on going back to Chicago for a funeral last week, where our Guardians couldn’t follow. The poachers kidnapped him. He’s still alive. I can still sense him, and his hunger. They haven’t fed him for days.”
“Why not kill you both? They’re poachers, for the love of—”
“My psychic talent. I can sense the location of other archangels. They intended to use me to hunt many, not just Wren.”
“That’s how you found us.” The murderous heat gathered at her fingers, but Ginger kept her hands in her lap.
“Yes, and that’s how I know you’re pregnant.”
Ginger stared, her mind a complete blank for several seconds. “What?”
“Twins,” Trinity said, her eyes dropping to Ginger’s middle. “That’s why I tried to convince the poacher to free you. I can sense…three. You and two young. My talent can detect archangels within hours of conception—” She coughed. “Do you mind letting up? I can’t breathe.”
Ginger stood and helped roll the poacher’s body off Trinity. But she seized the archangel’s arm as she got to her feet.
“You wouldn’t.” True fear lit those brown eyes.
“Wren would never have hurt you,” Ginger replied, feeling as cold as she sounded. “Don’t be so sure about me. You were trying to protect me from the poacher because I’m pregnant? Bull. Why the hell should I think you give a damn?”
“I do give a damn, halfling! I take it you know what happened between me and your mate. Yes, his gift disgusted me. I felt nauseous every time he touched me. But that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead. I had no choice. The poachers knew Wren was in the vicinity and called me on it when I tried to lie.” Trinity stared with a small, bitter smile. “Your young, however, I could hide from the poachers. Maybe a thank you is in order?”
“Don’t push it.” Ginger let go.
Trinity pulled away, rubbing her arm, and spread her wings. She pointed through the trees. “The colony is a few miles straight that way. I suggest you get back. You’ll need your father-in-law to keep those young alive. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my Guardians in Eden and see about saving my mate.”
Trinity took flight over the river and disappeared through the gap in the canopy. Ginger watched her go, then dropped her gaze. She covered her lower belly with her hands, sank to her knees, and let the grief hit her. Sobs wracked her body and she collapsed on the forest floor, consumed with a pain far worse than anything her body had ever produced.
For a long time after she’d exhausted herself, she remained on the ground, staring at the rushing water. Wren had described the death of a mate perfectly. Like an amputee without an arm, still feeling their fingers. The connection she had felt with Wren since the mating still tickled her senses. Like she was in a dark room. He was with her, she just couldn’t see—
She jerked into a sitting position. She could damned well see! Under the waves of her grief, she hadn’t considered her psychic talent.
Death didn’t need to separate them entirely.
“Wren!” She jumped to her feet, screaming. “Wren!”
§
Wren blinked, disorientated. He lay face down in a pool of blood, as he had before he’d lost consciousness. His blood had spread across the ground, mingling with leaves and a few stray feathers, for what had seemed like a small eternity. Unable to comprehend anything but the pain that had engulfed his body, he’d just watched as his life flowed across the ground. Eventually, cold had overcome the agony, and Wren had drifted to sleep.
Had he somehow survived? Feeling fine, strong even, he flattened his hands in the congealed goo and pushed himself up. He stared down at the sight of his own face, his eyes closed, his skin blood-spattered and pale. Survived? No, definitely not. Grim reality took hold and he got to his feet. Unable to look at the remains of his butchered body, he turned away.
Ginger. Where was his mate?
Wren pivoted in a circle, surprised the mechanics of movement worked the same as they had in life. So much felt the same, he realized: the damp air on his skin, if he could call it skin anymore, and the uneven ground under his feet. Absent, however, was the pounding of his heart as he scanned the clearing and saw no sign of Ginger. The lack of air in his lungs didn’t stop him from shouting.
“Gin!”
She’d be able to hear him, after all. Her talent. Had Trinity and the poacher taken her? He refused to consider that they’d killed her. Besides, she’d be standing there with him if they had, right? Had they left her, and she’d already woken? How much time had passed? He tried to calm his mind.
Fog. The mist had thinned but hadn’t cleared off; it was still morning. Wherever she was, she must still be asleep.
One blessing, he thought, as his wingless body caught his eye again. At least she wouldn’t see that when she woke.
He tore out of the clearing and found himself instantly at his intended destination, the ruins where he’d mated Gin the night before. Speed of thought, Lark had said, about moving as a spirit. The demon hadn’t exaggerated.
One glance around revealed an empty space. “Gin!”
The mountains didn’t send his voice back as an echo. A raven pecking at the remains of the orange peel didn’t react to his presence.
Wren hurried to the rocky outcrop at the edge of the ruins and stared down at the misty valley. He had to search for Ginger, even if he couldn’t physically help her if he found her. In life, the mating bond would have given him a clue how far away she was, in what direction to look, and whether or not she was in pain. Now, all he sensed was
…nothing.
He hesitated at the edge. As a spirit, could he travel through the air, or was he limited to walking and mentally jumping from location to location?
As he anticipated leaping off—what was the worst that could happen?—light in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned his head to the left, and if he’d had a heart, it would have frozen.
Wings. His incorporeal self had wings, but nothing like those he’d had in life. Silver light stretched out to either side of his body, which he now realized glowed as well. He held his hands up to his face. The brilliance made him squint.
Wren moved his wings and found he lifted, floated, off the ground with little effort. He stared out at the valley again, a little hope rising in his chest. Gin, I’m going to find you—
“Wren.”
Wren folded his light wings and sank back to the ground. He pivoted.
He blinked.
The ruins were awash in silver light. Archangels, dozens of them, stared back at him.
Wren sucked in a sharp breath.
All the transparent male and female archangels glowed with silver light. They stood in doorways, in trees, and on crumbling rooftops. A few whispered to each other while glancing in his direction. Most just stared. One female perched on top of the fountain, her silver eyes peering at Wren with unabashed curiosity. She spread her wings, dropped lightly to the ground, and approached Wren at the cliff’s edge. Barefoot, she wore a typical archangel halter top and pants, both white.
Wren’s gaze drifted from the delicate curve of her jaw to her large eyes and to her ginger-gold hair. He’d recognize this archangel anywhere.
She stopped in front of him and smiled. Her silver eyes scanned him from wing to toe. “Wren. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time. I’m Gabrielle.”
Wren stared at Ginger’s mother for a long moment, then at her offered hand. He dropped his gaze to his own translucent fingers.
Gabrielle laughed lightly and took Wren’s hand with a perfectly solid grip.
Wren took a step back, his heels at the cliff’s edge. “Excuse me if I’m not so easily amused. Ginger, my mate—”
The smirk disappeared from Gabrielle’s face. “You can relax, Wren. My daughter isn’t in immediate danger. She handled her captor quite well.”
Gabrielle swept her hand back toward the glowing crowd. A cluster of archangels parted, and two particularly tall individuals stepped forward, their wings extended and lifted, like vultures in the sun. They held a transparent, human spirit between them, who struggled. Wren recognized the poacher.
“Let go of me, damn it!” the poacher hollered at his keepers. His gaze landed on Wren and his eyes widened. “Son of a bitch!”
Gabrielle clicked her tongue. “Be careful what you wish for, human.” She turned toward the forest and raised her voice. “Balam! He’s all yours.”
A spirit stepped out of the shadows. Awash in amber light and blood-red flames, the demon grinned, revealing impressive upper and lower fangs.
“Gabrielle. You’re looking lovely, as always.”
Ginger’s mother narrowed her eyes at the demon, folded her arms, and turned to Wren. “Your murderer is going to prison, the place of fire that spawns the demons. But a spirit such as this one is only contaminated by evil, not consumed by it. The fire prisons will eventually incinerate the evil he’s accumulated in his lifetime, at which point he’ll be freed—”
“Fucking devils! All of you! I’ll kill you—” The poacher ranted.
Gabrielle sighed and rubbed her head. “Some toil in the prisons longer than others. He enjoyed tearing you apart while you suffered. He’s looking at a couple thousand years until his spirit is pure again.”
Wren lifted his eyebrows. “Evil can be burned?”
“With demon fire, yes. Demons are the wardens of the prisons. They keep the fire burning.” She nodded toward Balam.
Balam stopped in front of the poacher and the flames arched high into the air. The poacher screeched and thrashed.
“You’ll thank me one day.” Balam reached out and grasped the human’s arm.
“Fuck you—” A burst of flames cut the poacher off. Squinting, Wren covered his eyes.
The light faded a moment later. Wren blinked and dropped his arm. The crowd of archangels stood in silence around an empty clearing.
“Where…” Wren inspected the ground. No burn marks or footprints marred the fallen leaves.
“The fire prisons are in the world we come from. Demons were born of the fire. Archangels were born from the air itself. The spirit realm. Heaven and Hell. We simply call it home.”
Wren rubbed his temples.
“You’ll understand better when you see it.”
“How can I be getting a headache if I’m dead?”
“Wren.” Gabrielle touched his arm. “You’re not dead. I’m so sorry you suffered, but archangels are creatures of light and air, not material beings of earth. This is your true self.”
Wren paced the cliff edge, rubbing his sternum, the remains of the mating bond an ache deep in his chest. He flicked his wings, causing the shadows of nearby trees to dance. Separated by death, he and Gin should no longer have a connection through the mating bonds. Maybe instinct was enough. Icy fingers clawed at his chest and though he no longer had a heartbeat, a thrumming pulse beat in his ears. Ginger’s pulse; he heard it.
“Gin…Gin is afraid.”
Gabrielle’s silver eyes flared and she scanned the valley below. She extended her wings and stepped to the cliff edge. “Follow me.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Ginger stopped running, leaned forward, and braced her hands on her knees. She took deep, heavy breaths through her mouth. The forest surrounded her, silent save for the birds and chipmunks and the rushing water of the river.
“Wren?” she called out for what must have been the thousandth time, her throat sore.
A squirrel took off through the underbrush.
Ginger sighed and stared down at her feet, sore and bleeding from running through the woods. She stepped down the short bank into the river, which she had been following. The frigid water soothed the cuts on her soles. Shivering, she climbed back up to solid ground and began walking in the direction of the colony.
“Wren!” she shouted again, refusing to give up. He’d find her. If the dead moved on to another place, he’d at least pause to say goodbye. She could beg him to stay.
Cold slammed into her and she staggered. Rubbing her arms, she turned full circle, giddy as hope swelled in her chest. “Wren! Are you there?”
The temperature dropped further and violent shivers shook Ginger’s body. “Wren?”
“No.”
The single word chilled her more than her psychic talent. She turned toward the smug, tenor voice, her mouth dry as sandpaper. “Thornton Bailey.”
A shadow moved on the forest floor, taking an upright form of a man. As if made of tinted glass, Thornton’s spirit lacked the defined features and colors that had given a semblance of life to Lark’s transparent figure. Standing there in perfect stillness, staring at her, Thornton could have been a translucent, black ice sculpture. If she hadn’t known of all the horrendous acts he’d committed, she’d call the apparition beautiful.
Ginger straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “What do you want?”
Thornton didn’t move or speak. He stared at her, the tiniest lift to the corners of his mouth.
She met his dark gaze for a long moment and took a step back, keeping her chin high and her shoulders set. “You can’t hurt me. You’re a spirit. An immaterial ghost. You should accept that and move on to Hell, where you belong.”
He simply stared.
Summoning all her confidence, she turned on her heel and walked away, following the river toward the colony. After fifty paces, she glanced over her shoulder.
Thornton had followed her. She stopped and glared in his direction. He stood twenty feet away and made no move to encroac
h further.
“What do you want?”
Silence, but his black eyes bored into her.
She turned away again and began to walk, but her feet felt heavy, like she was wading through sand. The fatigue, the energy drain from the psychic talent. Thornton needed to leave soon or she’d expand too much energy and die—
Ginger froze mid step. She glanced over her shoulder and met Thornton’s gaze. A grin stretched across his face.
He knew.
Oh, fuck.
For a brief moment, she considered curling up on the ground and letting him drain the life out of her. If she died, she could be with Wren. But as if it were moving on its own, her hand lifted and touched her low belly.
Ginger launched into a sprint. She tore through the underbrush as fast as she could go, ignoring the growing fatigue and the branches that clawed her skin. But Thornton followed, and her body continued to weaken. Focusing her thoughts on the twins, she ordered her legs to keep moving, to move faster.
Though it would never happen, she pictured Wren holding the infants, his wings draped forward, protective shields that guarded them from all threats. In her vision, she wrapped her arms around the three of them and sought Wren’s lips for a long, deep kiss.
An exposed root caught her foot and she slammed into the ground. Pain erupted from her ankle and the fatigue held her body down like an invisible lead boot. Humoring the need to keep trying, she dragged herself across the ground with her hands.
Just keeping moving, she told herself.
Ginger spotted Thornton amongst the trees, still grinning. He stepped forward and strolled in a lazy circle around her. She reached a steep incline and, unable to summon the physical strength to ascend the obstacle, dropped her head and shut her eyes.
A furious snarl reached her ears. She forced her eyelids open and focused her blurry vision on Thornton. He crouched in a fighting stance, his back to her, growling and cursing. Then, another voice filled the air.
“Get away from her. Now!”
Wren. Ginger craned her neck, seeking the source of her mate’s voice. Light illuminated the forest, banishing all the shadows except Thornton. She squinted from the glare. Thornton howled as if acid had been thrown in his face.
