She screamed as he gave her his surrender, hard and hot and without restraint.
The exhilaration of their dance continued to hum through her veins days later, as she completed her notes about Raphael’s territory that she would enter into the histories when she returned to the Refuge.
Outside the library window, she could see the archangel drilling with a mixed unit of angels and vampires, the snow a seamless white blanket in every direction. Children’s laughter drifted up from the mortal city, carried by a whimsical wind, and she felt a poignant tug in her soul, an awareness of the forces and duties that pulled her to her home in the mountains… while her barbarian must wing his way back to Raphael’s territory, his task not yet complete.
But she would not think of it now. This was her time to love Galen.
That winter day, and the ones that followed were beyond beautiful, the skies a crystalline hue in the day, studded with gemstones at night. Jessamy spent the season in the arms of a warrior who told her she was his everything, even as his wounded heart struggled to accept that her love for him was no flickering candle flame but a light as constant as the sun.
Spring came as a blush, delicate and budding. Jessamy’s heart sighed at seeing the world awaken again, though it was a difficult time, too, for she had to say good-bye to the friends she’d made at the Tower. Difficult, but not painful, because she was no longer trapped in the Refuge. And so it had become home, rather than a cage.
Trace kissed her on the hand out of sight of everyone the morning of her departure. “If you ever tire of him, you know you have but to turn those lovely eyes my way.” Impudent words, true warmth.
“Thank you for being my friend.” He’d been a part of her journey, and she would never forget him. “You will come see me when you next visit the Refuge.”
“Only if you strip your barbarian of his weapons and tie him up for good measure.”
The memory made her smile as she stood on tiptoe not long afterward, and brushed her lips against Raphael’s cheek. “I’ll visit your land again. It has a claim on my heart now.”
“Do not wait so long this time.” Relentless blue eyes dark with an edge of sorrow, and she knew he was sorry to see her go, this ruthless archangel who had once been a boy she’d held when he bumped his knee. “The city will grow, but the skies and the lands around the Tower will be yours to explore so long as I rule.” He allowed her to step back, and into the arms of the man who would fly her home. “Take care with her, Galen.”
Galen didn’t reply, his expression making it clear the instruction deserved no response. Raphael laughed, the sound rare, a fading echo of that tiny blue-eyed boy who was the beloved son of two archangels. Beside him, Dmitri stood silent and watchful, but for the smile curving his lips. For once, it reached the vampire’s eyes. “Safe journey.”
They swept off the Tower roof on the heels of Dmitri’s words, escorted to the border by two wings of angels in perfect formation. She was the ostensible reason for the display, but she knew it was respect for Galen that drove the squadron. Pride filled her heart for the man who was hers, a man who’d forged his own place regardless of those who sought to stifle and crush him.
His mother had written again, urging him to return to Titus’s land, take up the lesser position and “improve his skills.” The subtle attack on Galen’s self-confidence had enraged Jessamy, but he’d simply shaken his head and said, “She’s afraid, Jess,” a depth of understanding in his eyes that would surprise those who saw only the hard, blunt surface.
Squelching her own anger, Jessamy had cupped his cheek. “Do you want to see her?” Tanae was his mother—as a child who loved her parents regardless of the oft painful quiet between them, she could understand the emotional need.
“Yes.” He’d put the letter aside, a calm strength to him. “But I will not chase her approval any longer. She can battle her pride and come to me.”
As they flew, Jessamy hoped Tanae did swallow her pride, because while Galen no longer needed her approval, he loved her still.
“Jess.” Warm breath, familiar voice. “Look.”
She glanced down, saw a snowy mountain range come alive with the sun’s rays, the snow seeming to ripple with waves of molten gold. “Oh…”
It was the first of the wonders they shared with each other, the journey home far different from the one to Raphael’s territory. Playful as children, they danced over isolated islands and primeval forests with sprawling canopies. Galen laughed with her as he never laughed with anyone else, teased her with sinful words, and listened in shock as she whispered of scandalous truths she’d learned over the ages.
“And to think I believed you sheltered and innocent.”
“My poor darling. Can your fragile sensibilities take the rest of the tale?”
A huge sigh, laughing eyes. “I’ll persevere if I must.”
It was only when they were almost to the Refuge that their joy whispered away to a quiet, solemn knowledge. “When do you leave for the return journey to Raphael’s territory?” Even though she’d known the truth since winter, when he’d murmured it to her in the pleasure-drenched dark, her heart clenched in pain.
Galen brought them to a cliff overlooking the river that scythed through the Refuge, a final private moment. “Tomorrow morn.” His hair flamed in the mountain sunlight as he held her face in the rough warmth of his hands, drinking her in with his eyes. “Raphael’s troops are strong, but not yet at a stage where they could repel the forces of another archangel with a single decisive action.”
Though Alexander Slept, might do so for millennia, Jessamy understood the world of the Cadre was never a peaceful place. “I know you’ll make them ready.”
Galen squeezed her hip. “I shouldn’t ask you to,” he said, devotion in every word, “but I’m going to. Wait for me, Jess. I’ll come back to you.” Naked emotion turned the sea green into hidden emeralds.
Pressing her fingers to his lips, she shook her head. “You never have to ask, Galen. Forever, that’s how long I’d wait for you.”
She loved him with passionate fury that night, speaking words of love over and over so he’d know she would wait for him. Morning broke too soon, and it was with a final kiss so tender it broke her heart that her barbarian flew back toward the lands of the man who was now his liege.
Galen was merciless in his training of Raphael’s troops. He’d left his heart in the Refuge, bled with the missing of it. It had been selfish of him to ask Jessamy to wait for him when she’d found her wings at last, was a woman many would want to court.
“I love you, Galen. So much it hurts.”
He held her words to his heart, polished them until they were faceted jewels, told himself no woman would say such sweet, passionate words to a man if she did not adore him. He hadn’t chained her with his request—she had chosen him. And still he worried that she would not look at him the same when he returned, her love eroded by the limits on her freedom his promise demanded.
The first letter was carried by a returning messenger, Jessamy’s flawless hand writing to him of her life, of the children she taught and the people she met, the histories she kept, connecting them though he stood half a world away.
My dearest Galen…
He ran his finger over the words so many times the ink smudged, his eyes burning until he had to put the letter away to read late in the night, when no one would disturb him and he could read it as slowly as he liked.
He sent his response—far shorter, for he had no way with words like Jessamy—with Raphael, when the archangel returned to the Refuge with a small wing of angels who would now be based there. Jason was currently taking care of his interests at the angelic stronghold, with Illium and Aodhan’s help, but the two angels were yet young.
Raphael carried Jessamy’s letter back to him.
Jessamy touched the letter for the thousandth time, tracing the hard, angular lines of Galen’s pen. She could almost feel his energy, his raw power in the terse words another woman might have taken as disinterest. Smiling because she understood that a warrior had no time or inclination to learn poetry and gentle wooing skills, she kissed the letter and put it on top of the book she was carrying as she headed home for the day.
“Daughter.”
Jessamy turned at the sound of that familiar voice, sliding Galen’s letter between the pages of the book as she did so—but her mother had already seen. “From your barbarian.” It was said with a smile, affectionate rather than judgmental.
Jessamy laughed. “Yes.” She didn’t tell her mother that Galen wasn’t as much the barbarian as he appeared—not only because the fact people constantly underestimated his intelligence gave him an advantage, but because he needed no such defense. She adored every part of him, the rough and the secret sweetness. Such as that which had led him to send her a daisy pressed in the leaves of his letter.
I flew past the field today, and I remembered how you talked to the flowers, he’d written, almost driving her to tears, the big beast.
“You love him.” Her mother’s words were followed by a deeper, yet somehow more tentative smile. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Unable to bear that hesitancy, Jessamy walked into the arms her mother held out. The scent of her was intimately familiar, warm and loving, a sensory reminder of the childhood nights Jessamy had spent silent and stiff in Rhoswen’s lap—after truly understanding that her wings weren’t ever going to form like those of her friends, that she’d never be able to join them in their sky games.
“I do,” she whispered, squeezing her mother tight, because Rhoswen had rocked her night after night, a fierce protective love in her voice as she attempted to give solace to a child who hurt too much to accept it. “And he loves me, too,” she said, aware her mother needed to hear it. “I’m happy.”
Rhoswen drew back from the embrace, a sheen of wet over the lush brown of her eyes. “No, you’re not.”