Chapter 40
FORTY
Moving at full speed, Icarus reached Adam before his head hit the ground, cradling the precious weight in his hands.
He sank behind him and gathered the rest of Adam’s torso into his arms. “No, no, no, no, no,” he chanted as his hands moved on autopilot, pushing layers of clothes out of the way, searching and finding the gunshot wound to Adam’s chest.
Blood and heat flowed through his fingers. Out of Adam. Too much. Too fast. No sign of healing.
Fuck!
He began snatching back the layers of fabric he’d pushed away, pressing them to the wound. He tore off his shirt sleeves and added those to the compress too, plus all the pressure he could exert without breaking Adam’s ribs. “Come on, baby. Stay with me.”
A dog whined, and Icarus jerked up his gaze, instinctively hissing, warning back any threats.
Robin wasn’t one, despite his appearance, his fur matted and muzzle bloodied from ripping out Vincent’s throat.
Deferring, he lowered to his belly at Adam’s feet and stared at Icarus with pleading golden eyes.
“Come,” Icarus ordered as gently as the panic coursing through him allowed. “Help keep him stable.”
Robin carefully stretched alongside Adam’s body, gentle but snug. Jennifer mirrored his position on Adam’s other side, bumpering him in blond fur. In his pack. “What do you need me to do?” Abigail asked as she crouched beside Icarus.
“I need to get a better look at the wound.” He wasn’t optimistic, but keeping his mind engaged, his hands working, was the only thing keeping his heart from breaking and the vampire from rampaging.
“Apply pressure on the compress,” he told her.
“I’m going to lift him, check for an exit wound, and if there isn’t one, then I need you to slide into my place.
” He carefully lifted Adam’s neck and head and swiped an arm under him, feeling for a tear in the fabric, or viscous blood, or an output of heat.
Finding nothing, he scooted the rest of the way out from behind Adam, and Abigail moved into position, cradling his shoulders and head.
He stepped over Robin, who didn’t growl or flinch, a testament to how worried he was for his brother-in-law.
Kneeling between Adam’s legs, Icarus checked him over for any other injuries.
The movement was enough to rouse Adam, his blue-gray eyes fluttering open.
Hazy with pain, they bounced around, unfocused, before finally landing on Icarus.
“Hey, baby.” The gurgling roughness of his voice didn’t help Icarus’s rising panic.
“Don’t—” His voice cracked, forcing him to start over, betraying his attempt to play stern. “Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me right now.”
“Michael.” So soft yet as sharp as any stake to Icarus’s heart. “I love you.”
Anger flared, Icarus grasping at any emotion other than the soul-crushing despair nipping at his heels.
“No!” he snapped. “You do not get to say that to me as you bleed out on a fucking piece of rock in the middle of the fucking Bay. You do not get to quit on me at all. I belong to you too.” He moved with every bit of speed magic had gifted him, peeking under the compress and probing the wound.
“Fuck, the bullet’s still in there.” And there was no way he was getting it out without doing more damage.
He grabbed the torn shirt sleeves, packed the wound as best he could, then piled the rest of the compress back on and exerted pressure.
Adam grunted, wincing as he lifted a hand to rest on Robin’s head. “You need to go.” He ran his fingers through the fur between Robin’s perked ears. “Get everyone out of here before I flame out.”
Icarus understood those words now and hated the inevitably staring him down, the fire that would steal the man he loved and Icarus along with him because in no scenario was Icarus leaving him alone to die. But did he have to? “Is there a way . . .” He cleared his throat. “Like the kid?”
Adam shook his head. “No time.” He petted Robin again. “Go, please.”
Robin shuffled closer and laid his chin on Adam’s shoulder. His woeful, high-pitched whine was the straw that broke the vampire’s back. Leaving one hand on the wound, Icarus turned his face away, giving the brothers a moment and giving himself a moment to choke back the threatening sobs.
“I’ll tell her,” Adam said to Robin. “I promise.”
Robin barked, and Icarus righted his gaze.
It was too soon; the sight was no less painful as Robin rose on all fours, leaned over Adam, and licked his face.
A final goodbye. Icarus closed his eyes, fighting the wretched misery tearing apart his insides, the scream of hopelessness rumbling up his throat that escaped on a gasp when the coyote’s tongue swiped his cheek, licking away the tears he’d shed for their friend.
Icarus opened his eyes, meeting the same grief and despair in glowing gold ones.
But he also met a promise. “You’ll protect her? ” Icarus asked.
Robin nodded his big rusty-gold head.
“Thank you.”
He backed away slowly, Jenn and Abigail on his heels.
Icarus reclaimed his spot behind Adam, cradling his body as he continued to press the soaked pile of clothes to his chest. Adam turned into him, face buried in his neck, the rising heat of his breath carving open that Adam-sized hole in Icarus’s chest again.
Adam’s words, as usual, tore it wider. “You should go too.”
“Not a chance,” Icarus managed through his tears. “I’ve never seen a phoenix before.”
“You knew?”
He lifted a hand and cupped Adam’s cheek, thumb skating his temple, the corner of his eye. “It burned here when we made love.” His voice wobbled. “Like it’s burning now.”
“We burn together.”
Icarus leaned over and brushed his lips against Adam’s. “I love you too. Thank you for believing in me.”
“Thank you for giving me a second chance.”
He pressed his forehead against Adam’s and braced for the final, searing burst of heat, expecting it to come from the man in his arms. He didn’t expect it to come from their sides.
Magic popped and sizzled, green mist coalescing into a dome that formed over them, and inside it with them, Atlas, Mary, and Cormac.
Icarus clasped his sister’s outstretched hand. “What are you doing here?” He then cut a glare at Atlas. “Why are you with him?”
She laid her other hand atop Icarus’s on Adam’s chest. “I need you to give him back to me.”
He swung his gaze back at her. “What?”
“He either flames out or you give him back to me.”
“What are you saying?”
“You are the balance Nature wants,” Atlas interjected, explaining. “Life”—he nodded at Adam’s prone form in his arms, then at Icarus—“and death. Phoenix and vampire. That’s why I sent you to him. You have to be the one that kills him.”
She squeezed his hand. “You’re the one who saves him.”
“You want me to bite him? To feed?” They nodded, and Icarus’s head spun, but not nearly as fast as his heart tumbled. How did the pieces fit together? Were they a sacrifice or something more? Was this hope or a fucking curse? Did any of it matter beyond the love and life of the man in his arms?
“We can’t lose another phoenix,” she said. “His is the power we need in the coming war.”
“We?” he croaked as he gathered Adam closer, protecting him from all possible threats.
She flattened a hand on the green dome, and the magical shield shone so bright Icarus had to slam shut his eyes, stars sparkling behind his lids. “He’ll help me channel the power. Back into the life force, back into Nature.”
A gentle hand on Icarus’s shoulder urged his eyes back open and drew his gaze to the violet one by his side.
Sanity in the swirling storm, an ally like he’d been that day in the Canyon Lands.
The man in Icarus’s arms was his only concern too.
“I’ll stay with his soul,” Cormac said. “Whichever way he chooses.”
Fear gripped Icarus’s insides and twisted his gut in a stark reminder of that awful feeling from the day he was turned, that awful, heavy emptiness that had invaded his soul and that had only begun to lighten when Adam Devlin crossed his path.
No, not only Adam—the Devil and Gabriel too.
Especially Gabriel, who had already lost so much.
Icarus would not curse that man or any part of the man he loved to more emptiness.
Not when it was the antithesis of what he wanted.
“What if I turn him?” He’d never bitten anyone before.
He didn’t know how this fucking worked. Never wanted to.
“This, me, eternal life, it’s not what he wants.
You know that as well as I do. He wants peace. He fucking deserves it.”
“So do you.” Cormac squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll stay with yours too.”
Icarus gulped. “Which direction?” The same question he’d posed just days ago. He hadn’t imagined they’d be revisiting it so soon.
“Whichever direction the two of you choose.”
He flicked his gaze to Mary. Nature was driving the show, but misery shone from his sister’s hazel eyes. “I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you too, always.” He turned his eyes back to the raven, the too-gentle reaper. “Is back here an option?”
Adam shifted in his arms, his lips moving against the underside of Icarus’s jaw. “Icarus, it’s okay. I’m not afraid anymore. Not with you. Never with you.”
“I can’t,” he choked out on a sob. “I can’t hurt you.” He pressed their foreheads together again. “Your soul has hurt enough already.”
“Not hurt. Free.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Wherever you are, that’s free.”
Icarus drew back enough to meet his eyes, the phoenix there glowing red, only a thin ring of blue-gray left at the edge of his fiery irises. Enough of him left for Icarus to beg and plead with, to confess the only truth that mattered. “I love you. I need you to come back to me.”
“You come back to me too.” One final kiss, his breath searing hot, the phoenix rising, before he leaned his head back and bared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing around a last whispered “I love you.”
Instincts Icarus had ignored the past however many minutes, the past week, the past thirty years rushed to the surface.
And for the first time since he’d been turned, he gave in to them.
Gave in to the hope of love. Of peace and a place that was free of emptiness.
A place for Michael at Gabriel’s side, forever.
Icarus sank his fangs into the Devil’s neck and flew into the sun.