Aodhan stared down at his phone. “What will I do with you, Blue? You let the people you love take total advantage of you.” His fingers closing over the phone, he looked to the horizon, searching for wings of blue that were on the other side of the world.
You and that heart of yours really need a damn keeper.
Do I hear you volunteering?
No, I’m not volunteering. The position is already mine.
Aodhan intended to hold on to that position with teeth and claws. He’d never thought of himself as a possessive angel, but when it came to Illium . . .
Eyes narrowed as he stared out at the New York skyline from the Enclave land that had once held Elena and Raphael’s home, he checked the time, then called Illium. He picked up after a couple of rings. “Sparkle,” he said, the shouts of the rest of the crew background music, and his smile in his voice. “Can’t talk long. Crew needs me to bring through another beam.”
“I just need you to answer one question.”
“Yeah?”
“Is Kai still flirting with you?” He carried on before Illium could answer. “Because if she is, I’m flying back there even if it causes a diplomatic incident—and I’m going to make damn sure she understands that you belong to me.”
A taut pause, Illium’s voice a little rough as he said, “Do I?”
“Yes.” No games now, no crossed signals or things unsaid. “And I belong to you.” It was still hard for him to say that, to give control over himself to another person . . . but this wasn’t just another person.
This was Illium. His Blue.
“I said good-bye to Kaia.” Illium’s voice was husky now. “Over the ocean. Her charm sleeps in the deep now.”
Aodhan sucked in a quiet breath, for this, he had never expected. “Are you sure, Illium?” He might not have liked Kaia, but he’d always understood that she was one of the defining features of Illium’s youth. That was why he’d never made any comment about Illium’s attachment to the charm, no demand that he give it up.
“Beyond any doubt. It got to be habit and comfort more than anything else—just a physical anchor when I needed it.” The way he said that, it made Aodhan realize he’d really thought his decision through. “As of today, I’ve swapped that anchor for another—I’ve touched my fancy new belt buckle so many times that it’s all smudged. Guess I better stock up on polish.”
Aodhan’s lips twitched. “I’ll make you something smaller to play with.” The other angel had always had a way of fiddling with things—whatever was around, whether that was a throwing knife, a pebble, a paintbrush in Aodhan’s studio, anything with which he could occupy his hands.
It was only after Kaia that he’d become obsessed with that charm.
“And no,” Illium said, “Kai is engaged to be married to a mortal who worships the ground on which she steps.” No anguish in his voice, nothing but a kind of affectionate happiness.
Aodhan truly exhaled for the first time since his return to New York. “I want you home—I’ll look for you until the day you land.” Then he admitted another thing. “I’ve just stocked up on ultramarine blue, silver, and multiple other oil paints. I’m going to paint you diving from your aerie in the gorge, that day in the storm, when you almost got struck by lightning.”
Delighted laughter down the line. “I’ve never seen you so furious. I swear you had sparks shooting off you.”
“I’ll probably be furious all over again while I paint. I can’t believe you decided to dance with lightning.” Aodhan had lost half his immortal years that day, he was sure of it. “Come home soon, or I’ll end up with so many paintings of you they’ll call it my Bluebell era.”
More laughter that faded off into something softer, more intimate. “How long do you think your Bluebell era will last?”
“All the eons of our existence.”
Six months later
Lightning cracked the sky as it had that day when Illium danced with death, rain thundering to the earth, but Aodhan took off from the Tower roof with no hesitation. According to all his calculations, and—given Illium’s last check-in—the other man had to be about four hours out from the city.
Aodhan wasn’t about to wait any longer.
Illium’s spoiled and adored Smoke was already at the Tower, having come home in a cargo plane a week prior—in the care of the pilots, both of whom had pets of their own and could be trusted with the precious cargo.