Angels Dance

naked passion of him, and felt her body quicken to shocking readiness. “Strong, gorgeous man,” she said, giving him words because her Galen needed words. “Just so you know—you’re mine. Always and forever. So don’t even think about changing your mind.”
    Shuddering, he dropped his head, pressed his cheek to her own, and murmured words in a language both beautiful and ancient. Tears burned in her eyes, passion torn through with wild tenderness.
    I’m yours.
    So simple. So powerful. His heart laid at her feet.
    He locked his mouth to her own before she could find her voice, and they plummeted in a passionate kind of insanity. Lost in the magnificent power of him, she hardly felt the spray of water on her back when he jerked them up above the pond, rising a bare wing-length before bringing them to a gentle landing on the snowy verge.
    His clothing was soft beneath her back, the ground hard. And Galen . . . he was an inferno.
    She screamed as he gave her his surrender, hard and hot and without restraint.

15
    T he 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