Angels' Dance Page 8

  "Yes." Until she didn't know the passionate, demanding stranger she'd become.

  *

  Having caught more than one speculative look directed his way as he walked through the artisans' section of the Refuge later that day, Galen bit back a smile of primal satisfaction. No one was now in any doubt about his claim when it came to Jessamy.

  Illium knocked on the door of the home where he'd led them, eyes of deep gold narrowing when his gaze fell on Galen. "It might be better for your health not to look like the cat that got into the cream when you see Jessamy next."

  Galen bared his teeth. "A man has a right to declare his courtship." And make it clear that anyone who got in the way would be eviscerated.

  The blue-winged angel shook his head. "Barbarian, there's declaring and then there's beating the point home with a club."

  Right then, they heard a faint "It's open" from within the house.

  Following the flirtatious wind in the hallway, they came out onto a railing-less balcony that hung out over the gorge, appearing to be suspended against the cerulean blue of the sky. The angel who sat with his back to the house, his face and hands streaked with red and blue and yellow, a color-drenched canvas on the easel in front of him, was created of fractured pieces of light.

  His wings were diamond bright, refracting and breaking the piercing beams of sunlight; his hair the same pale, paradoxically dazzling shade; his eyes, when he turned to glance over his shoulder, splintered outward from the black pupil in shards of crystalline blue and green. A sculpture in ice, but for the fact his skin held a golden warmth that likely made him an object of desire, though he was a youth yet.

  Rising the instant he saw that Illium wasn't alone, the angel took a respectful stance beside his easel, the blue paint on his cheek a primitive tattoo.

  "Galen, this is Aodhan. He serves Raphael." Illium made the introduction with a courtly grace that wouldn't have been out of place in the palace of Neha, the Queen of Poisons. "Aodhan," the angel continued, "meet Raphael's new weapons-master."

  "Sir."

  Raphael's people, Galen thought, fit no predictable pattern . . . but one. "Your aerie is well situated," he said, considering the quiet, implacable loyalty he'd sensed in both Dmitri and Illium. An archangel who inspired such fidelity in men of strength was indeed a power Alexander should fear.

  Aodhan's wings rustled as he moved to join Galen near the edge of the balcony. "The light," he said, a shy smile in his eyes, "it's perfect for painting."

  Shy perhaps, Galen thought, but intelligent, and, from the way he moved, highly capable in some kind of combat. "The blade," he murmured. "Rapier?" The delicate but deadly sword would fit the angel's graceful step.

  But Aodhan shook his head. "Too light for me. I prefer a more solid blade." He pushed back his hair, leaving a red streak on his forehead and in the strands. The color glittered.

  "You returned to the Refuge this morn?" He'd give the young angel time to rest, after which he wanted to see him in the salle--as weapons-master, he had to know the strengths and weaknesses of all of Raphael's trusted people.

  "Yes. I've been acting as a courier for the sire this past year."

  "You're very young for the task."

  "I was given special dispensation," Aodhan began, just as wings of white-gold swept down from the sky to land on the balcony, the wind of Raphael's descent blowing Galen's hair back from his face.

  "You're all here," the archangel said, folding his wings tight to his back. "Good."

  Caught by the tone of his voice, they converged around him.

  "It's time I returned to my territory," Raphael said. "It seems Alexander is stirring. Galen, you come with me."

  Cold in his veins. He'd always known he would be needed at Raphael's side should war beckon. Except-- "We can't leave Jessamy unprotected." His fury reignited as he remembered how she'd cried against his chest, his strong, intensely private Jessamy.

  "Aodhan, Illium, and Jason, when he returns tonight, will make certain she's never in any danger." Raphael glanced at the other two angels, received immediate nods. "Jessamy is a woman of intelligence--she will not foolishly put herself in harm's way."

  Galen knew that. He also knew she was his to protect. "May I speak to you alone?"

  "Illium, Aodhan."

  The two angels swept off the balcony at the quiet command, their wings making a brilliant show of shattered light and wild blue against the jagged stone of the gorge as they attempted to outfly each other.

  "You court Jessamy," Raphael said, his attention on Galen, the staggering power that ran through his veins a near-visible presence. "She understands the world as not many do, will recognize why you cannot remain in the Refuge at this time."

  Galen shook his head, determined to fight for this. "The flight to your territory is long and will require us to move at a steady pace." Unlike Illium and Aodhan's game, it would be about endurance. "A light passenger won't slow us down."

  Raphael's eyes darkened in surprise. "Jessamy does not leave the Refuge."

  "No." Hands at his back, he gripped the wrist of one with the other. "Jessamy cannot leave the Refuge."

  The archangel's motionlessness was nothing mortal, nothing even an ordinary angel could emulate. It was utterly and completely of himself. "You shame me, Galen," he said at long last, the golden filaments in his wings catching the sunlight. "So many centuries have I known her, and not once have I ever asked if she would like to visit other lands."

  "Jessamy," Galen said, "is not a woman who shares her innermost thoughts with the world." It was a gift to be allowed to see beyond the gauzy, impenetrable veil of her composed grace.

  Raphael gave him an oblique look. "And yet she shares them with you?"

  "No, but she will." Galen wasn't budging, wasn't ever changing his mind, and he wasn't leaving her behind. "Illium says I have all the subtlety of a bear with a blunt club, but bears with clubs get results."

  Raphael laughed; however, his words were practical. "You're the only one Jessamy has ever allowed to fly her as an adult, but if you can gain her cooperation, we can alternate. We leave with the next dawn."

  As Galen flew off the balcony not long afterward, the wind rippling through his hair, he thought of what he'd said to Raphael, considered every facet of it. Jessamy was a woman of secret passions and dreams, of hidden layers and intimate mysteries. He wondered if he would ever truly know her. The idea of always being on the outside made pain shoot down his clenched jaw, but regardless of his comment to Raphael, she was no enemy he could conquer with brute power. The campaign to win Jessamy must be a subtle thing.

  Landing in front of the school, he saw the closed door and realized lessons must be over. He was readying himself to fly to the library when a tiny creature with sun-bright hair dropped down from the sky in a crooked dive. Catching her to stop her from crashing to the earth, he held her away from him with both hands around her waist, and scowled. "Your flight technique is faulty."

  Big brown eyes with lashes the same light shade as her curls stared at him. "You're big, Jessamy's angel."

  Jessamy's angel.

  Deciding he could handle the invasion of tiny creatures--because two more had managed to land around him--he put the girl on her feet beside her friends. "Why are you here? The school is closed."

  It was one of the boys who replied. "We're allowed to play in the park." He slid his hand into Galen's in a trust that made something go hot and tight in his throat. Children were an unknown species to him--he'd spent his life with warriors, even when he was a babe himself.

  "Will you play with us?" the girl asked, tipping her head back in an effort to meet his gaze . . . so far back that the weight of her wings toppled her over.

  Reaching down, he tugged her up with one hand. "No, I think you all need a lesson in flight."

  So it was that he spent time he didn't have drilling three excited babes who held his hands when it wasn't their turn to fly, and who called him Jessamy's angel. "I'm leaving
the Refuge," he told them afterward, for to disappear without warning would be to betray their trust. "And I'm taking Jessamy with me."

  Sadness blunted the shine in their bright eyes. The little girl's lower lip wobbled. "Will you bring her back?"

  Hunkered down before them, he gave a solemn nod, because he understood what he was asking. "Yes, but now it's time for Jessamy to fly."

  Stalking into the library after the children assented that he could "borrow" Jessamy for a while, he felt the hush of the hall of learning attempt to cloak him. It snagged, tore. He was as out of place here as he would be in Jessamy's bed, big brute that he was . . . but that mattered little. Not when she looked up from the book in which she was writing, the ink flowing gracefully across the page, and smiled. "There you are, devious man."

  Fisting his hand in her hair, he claimed a kiss, the contact a raw melding of mouths. "I have something to ask you," he said, taking another sipping taste of her mouth as she spread her fingers against the sensitive inner surface of his wings.

  "Hmm?"

  He told her of the trip they'd be making, saw her passion-dazed expression skitter between dazzling joy, disbelief, and finally despair.

  10

  "It's impossible," she whispered at last. "The distance . . . even you can't carry me that far."

  "I can carry you anywhere you want to go." That was why he was so strong, so big--he'd been born for her. "But if there is need, Raphael requests you allow him to fly you, too." Galen trusted the archangel--never would he put Jessamy's life into the hands of a man he didn't believe would fight to the death to protect that life.

  Jessamy's throat moved as she swallowed, her fingers motionless on his wing. "No one wants a malformed angel out in the world." The statement was bleak, the rich brown of her eyes dull. "The mortals cannot see us as weak."

  He hated how she described herself, but he'd foreseen her concern, discussed the details of Raphael's territory with the archangel. "There is a mortal settlement near Raphael's tower," he said. "But it's at such a distance that they would need the sight of an eagle to glimpse you. No mortals work in the Tower itself, and there is significant open land around it, so you will not be trapped within."

  Jessamy's response was a halting whisper. "I-I've become used to the Refuge, to the limits on my existence." The elegant bones of her face cut against her skin as she angled her head in thought, her hair falling soft and luxuriant over her shoulder. Reaching out, he played with the strands, twining them around his finger as he would twine them around his fist when he had her beneath him.

  No, he wasn't the least civilized when it came to Jessamy. The wonder of it was, he was starting to believe she didn't care.

  *

  Jessamy wanted to bask in the wild heat of the warrior who had invaded her sanctum. His thickly muscled thigh was close enough to touch, the warmth of his wing seductive under her palm, his feathers incongruously silken. Even the terrified joy she felt at the gift he'd laid before her didn't squelch her piercing awareness of him, this weapon of a man who was somehow becoming hers.

  "I can carry you anywhere you want to go."

  No one had ever offered her such freedom. No one had ever fought to show her the world. And she knew he must have fought. Because until Galen, no one had seen beyond the twisted wing and to the hunger within. The one thing she'd never ever factored into her decision to dance with him was that he'd take her with him when he left. Heart tearing wide-open, she looked up to catch him watching her, felt her stomach clench. But she didn't shy. Instead, she moved the hand she had on his wing to the taut muscle of his thigh.

  His body went rigid.

  Skating her gaze over the primal hardness of him, she stroked once before rising . . . and moving between his legs. Cupping his face when he bent toward her, his hands on her hips, so large and warm, she initiated a kiss for the first time. It wasn't as difficult as she'd imagined it might be, not with a partner so very enthusiastic that she found herself trapped between two muscular thighs while her breath was stolen from her.

  It was exhilarating and petrifying and rather wonderful.

  When Galen's hand fisted in her gown, she knew she should stop him--the library was by no means deserted during the day--but she didn't. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts to the heated iron of his chest, rubbing to assuage a sudden wild need. Galen's groan was deep, his hand unclenching and fisting again in her skirts. "Is that a yes?"

  Using her mouth to taste the thick line of his neck with the fascination of a woman who wanted to explore every tiny part of him, she drew the dark, unalterably male scent of him into her lungs. "Yes . . . and thank you."

  Galen went motionless, his hands closing over her arms to pull her away from his beautiful sculpture of a body.

  "Galen?"

  His jaw a brutal line, he said, "You understand you could be flying into war?"

  For such freedom, she'd pay any price. "Yes."

  "We leave tomorrow morning."

  "The children--"

  "You must know people who can step in to continue their education while you're gone."

  "Of course. It's their spirits I'm worried about." It would be unbearable to reach for her dream knowing she'd left heartbroken children behind.

  "Speak to the little creatures--something tells me they'll understand."

  With that, he walked out of the library. No good-bye, no kiss. Arrogant, confusing barbarian of a man. One she was beginning to, quite simply, adore. "Bad temper, arrogance, and all." Her laugh came from deep within, from the girl she'd once been.

  That laughter reappeared again when she spoke to the children. The "little creatures" did indeed understand. Not only that, they admonished her to be careful of strangers and to make sure to send them a letter with every messenger. A hundred sweet, fierce hugs later, she walked down the pathway to her parents' home . . . and though she tried so hard to hold on to it, the laughter faded.

  "This Galen is strong?" Rhoswen asked, naked concern in the eyes she'd bequeathed her daughter.

  "Yes. My trust in him is absolute."

  "Forgive me, Jessamy." Rhoswen cupped her cheek. "A mother never stops watching out for her child. I wish we could've given you this--"

  "You gave me everything in your power. Thank you."

  "My beautiful girl." A hesitation, as if Rhoswen wanted to speak other words, but as always, she kept her silence.

  Heart full of love and pain both, Jessamy walked into her mother's embrace. Later, her father kissed her temple and squeezed her hard enough to leave bruises.

  "I love you," she whispered to them both, and then she turned and walked away, a knot in her throat. To look back might be to see tears, bright as diamonds, marking Rhoswen's face.

  *

  The sun was but a mirage on the horizon the next morning when Galen lifted into the air with Jessamy in his arms. Her legs, long and slender, lay over his arm, clad in thick woolen stockings of purest black, her tunic--the color of autumn leaves--ending just above the knee. It was strange to see Jessamy in clothing other than the long, graceful gowns that flowed around her as she walked, and he could tell she wasn't quite comfortable in her attire, but it was practical for the long flight.

  He and Raphael carried nothing beyond the weapons they'd strapped on. Like every archangel, Raphael had "journey's rest" stations spread across the world, stocked with everything from food, to clothing, to replacement weaponry. It was an unspoken rule that no such location was ever to be compromised or utilized as a place of ambush, as every angel was welcome to use the stations. However, Raphael had made certain of the safety of his by posting guards at the remote outposts. Each pair served a season before rotating in to the Refuge, ensuring no team was ever too long isolated.

  Jessamy shifted a fraction, her wing muscles moving against his arm. He hadn't kissed her this morning, seen frustration dig grooves in her forehead. She couldn't know what the restraint cost him, but the one thing he would never ac
cept from Jessamy was her gratitude. It would be a slow death.

  "Stubborn," Jessamy said, her breath an airy kiss against his neck, "has a terrible temper, arrogant, with a tendency to sulk. Your flaws are growing."

  Squeezing her, he dipped his wings, making her cry out, tighten her hold around his neck. "Stop that." It was a laughing censure, the softness of her mouth pressed to his skin sweet agony.

  In front of them, Raphael swept down and out of sight along a young, green valley, scouting ahead. The archangel's wings glittered in the rising sun, his flight so smooth as to create not a single ripple in the air. Then he was gone, leaving Galen and Jessamy with the sky to themselves, the clouds soft white puffs he deliberately flew into.

  Jessamy ran her fingers through the insubstantial filaments. "Oh Galen. I'm touching clouds." The wonder in her made everything worth it, even the pain that might yet come . . . as Jessamy found her heart's wings, and flew away from him.

  He should have thought ahead, should have comprehended the consequences of her first taste of true freedom. Of course she'd be thankful to the man who'd taken her into the skies, but even had he known that from the beginning, he would've still done everything in his power, fought an archangel, to allow Jessamy to touch the clouds. His selfishness was only a small one--he wanted her to need him, want him, for himself. No one in his life had ever cared for him just because he was Galen.

  "Are you planning to ignore me the entire way, you stubborn beast?" Jessamy murmured as they came out into the unbroken blue of the sky once more, the landscape below a verdant green interspersed with the snaking sparkle of water.

  Realizing he had no will to resist her when she teased him with such unexpected affection, he said, "It is a long flight," attempting a small tease of his own, when he'd never done such a thing. "If we use up our conversation now, the final leg will be deathly silent."

  Her laugh tangled around him, wrapping him in silken chains that might yet make him bleed. "I will never run out of words, Galen."

  "Then tell me things," he murmured, stealing this time with her. No matter what happened once they reached Raphael's territory, she was his for this journey and he wasn't too proud to pretend that she did care for him the way he needed her to. "Tell me about Alexander. I have studied him, but never seen him."