Archangel's Sun (A Guild Hunter Novel)

by Nalini Singh

  The two of them had landed together, but Ozias had insisted on going first. Inside the cabin was an angel; he lay on a cot pushed against one wall of the small and sparsely furnished space. The cot was narrow and obviously not built for an angelic body, but the angel who lay within it was beyond caring about that. He was flushed, his body hot with fever, and his eyes unseeing.

  Under the brown of his skin crawled patches of green-black.

  Sharine thought back to how the surviving villager had described the angel who’d attacked their settlement: His skin was like a bruise almost all over and it was peeling away in places, shriveled in others. His fingers were hooked, his nails like claws, and it seemed as if his tongue was rotting green, his lips too plump and red.

  The angel on the cot looked relatively healthy in comparison, if the word could be used in this context—as if the infection hadn’t advanced as deep. Despite that, he showed no awareness of their presence, one of his arms hanging limply over this side of the cot. One wing was the same, the other crushed under his back.

  When Sharine looked around the cabin, she spotted something that had her last meal threatening to rise from her stomach. “Unless I’m very wrong, that was his food source.”

  Ozias crouched by the pile of bones and used her sword to nudge out the skull. “Mortal.” A pause, a closer look at the teeth. “No, vampire.” Voice cold, she said, “From the state of the bones, they’ve been here a number of days.” She got to her feet. “There’s no flesh or marrow.”

  “A lack of food might explain his current state.” No normal reborn would appear as healthy after being deprived of food for days, but that was the thing that had become clear since their first discovery—infected angels might not be reborn at all. “Charisemnon’s journal states that his goal was to create an infection that didn’t need death as a starting point.”

  Sharine had read the relevant journals over and over in an effort to discover the tiniest bit of data, and it had struck her that for an antidote or cure to work, the individual had to be alive in the first place—Lijuan had been the strongest of them all and even she hadn’t been able to bring the dead back to true life.

  Add to that the information that Charisemnon’s “gift” had been disease, and it became even more probable that he hadn’t been capable of creating reborn on his own. All the initial stock of reborn had been birthed by Lijuan. “Our only indication that he might’ve succeeded is the pregnant angel.”

  Titus’s medics, healers, and scientists were united on that one point: life, actual life, couldn’t come from one of the dead. Disregarding all philosophical discussion on the point, the internal organs of the reborn started to undergo a metamorphosis at the very moment of “resurrection”—a number of the more intrepid healers, including Sira, the leader of the entire team, had flown with the fighting squadrons and had studied enough “fresh” reborn to be sure of their conclusion.

  The metamorphosis included the total desiccation of certain internal organs—including the womb. No reborn who’d existed longer than twenty-four hours could carry a child. Neither could a reborn sire one, as those organs also desiccated into nothing. The latter discovery had apparently caused a shudder to run through the ranks of all those who possessed said organs.

  “You think he might be alive?” Ozias, Sharine had learned, was as adept as any spymaster in concealing her emotions—but now she compressed her lips and swallowed. “I’ll check his blood. Did Sira’s healers not theorize it might remain red until the infection took a strong hold?”

  “Yes.” Sharine shifted to take position near the angel’s head. “Should he rise in an attack, I’ll bring him down with my power.” Sharine had an artist’s soul, violence not in her usual lexicon, but she’d come to accept that violence was the only answer in the current situation—the reborn would never listen to reason, never agree to live in peace side by side.

  And whatever the connection between Lijuan’s reborn and Charisemnon’s disease, the victims of both shared a single overriding desire: to feed on living flesh. Sira’s team was of the opinion that Charisemnon had used the blood of the reborn as a base to synthesize or “birth” his disease. Sharine was apt to agree with them.

  “Ready, my lady?”

  At Sharine’s nod, Ozias slid away her sword and took out a knife. Using the razored edge, she made a tiny cut at the tip of one of the angel’s fingers. The angel didn’t recoil, though his chest continued to rise and fall, his eyes to blink. What emerged from the miniscule cut was a fluid of viscous green streaked with black.

  The smell was putrid and overpowering.

  The spymaster staggered back. “I’ve smelled that stench before,” Ozias choked out. “It’s of a body decaying in the grave.”

  Sharine thought back to the infant’s mother; had she had such an ugly odor to her? She couldn’t remember, her entire being had been so focused on giving the poor child peace in her final moments. “We must consult Sira.”

  If this angel was alive—not reborn, simply badly infected with Charisemnon’s disease—then he could prove critical to those studying the infant and thus, to the infant’s life. “They may be able to use him to test if the babe’s blood holds a cure.”

  Ozias sucked in a breath, then choked all over again. “Let’s talk outside.”

  Once there, they both took huge gulps of the bitingly clean air and decided to call Titus. He was the archangel of this territory; the final decision had to be his. Sharine’s heart clenched at seeing his worried face on the small screen.

  “Your opinion aligns with Ozias’s?” he asked after Ozias laid out all they knew.

  A tightening of her abdomen, his words threatening to knock the air out of her and not for the first time. This man, he wasn’t afraid of strength, wasn’t afraid of using that strength to ensure the best outcomes for his territory—and for his people. “Yes,” she said. “He may be the key to understanding the babe.”

  “I’ll dispatch Sira and their team.” His attention arrowed in on Sharine as Ozias went to speak to the three angels she’d be leaving behind to watch over the infected angel. “Your skin has become more golden, your bones sharper.”

  “I’m becoming stronger the more I fly.” She wasn’t losing weight but adding lean muscle to her body. “How goes it in the south?”

  “Day by day,” he said with warrior practicality . . . then touched his fingers to the screen, as if he would touch her.

  She found herself responding in kind.

  Titus ended the call with no good-bye, a little quirk of his that made her wonder in ways that weren’t good for her heart. Yes, Titus would leave a mark on her.

  “Lady Sharine!” Ozias called from where she’d been briefing the angels who were to stand guard. “It’s time to fly!”

  Sliding away the phone, Sharine rose into the sky.

  As they fought on through the days that followed, she remained on edge, but they discovered no other signs of infected angels—until the commander of a large city to the northeast reported the appearance of mauled mortal and vampire bodies in a particular dark corner of her city.

  Though the general angelic populace knew nothing of the infection, the commander said, “I’ve heard rumors that my sire was involved in terrible experimentation. If true, it’s possible one of his subjects escaped.” She swallowed. “I know little more—I’m a city commander, wasn’t part of the inner court.

  “I’ve sent people to hunt the perpetrator,” she added, “but with protecting the city from the reborn threat, it’s been a low priority.” Exhaustion carved lines into the cream of her skin, her golden hair a feathered cap. “I’d more than welcome any assistance you can provide.”

  Prior to this meeting, Ozias had briefed Sharine on the commander. “Eryna isn’t evil—she’s akin to Kiama’s parents: stupidly loyal.” No harshness in her voice, the words a simple truth. “As a city commander, she�
��s one of the best.”

  Sharine felt a deep sense of compassion for those like Eryna, who’d been let down by the person they trusted above all others. Hadn’t she been much the same with Aegaeon? So needy and broken that she’d clung to the familiar even when it turned hurtful.

  “Alexander has dispatched a number of relief squadrons,” Ozias said, and Eryna’s face visibly brightened, her spine no longer rigid. “In the meantime, it’s best if you maintain your border watch while we see what predator roams your streets.”

  Eryna inclined her head. “A sound plan.” Then, for the first time, she met Sharine’s gaze with the blue of her own. “Lady Hummingbird, when you paint this war, will you make those of us who flew with Charisemnon into shadows? Into monsters?”

  So much pain in the questions, a savagery of regret. “I think, child, you carry the shadows within. I have no need to create them with paint.”

  Expression twisting, Eryna bowed from the waist before departing to resume her duties.

  “Regret has a taste, does it not?” Sharine murmured to Ozias. “Like ozone in the air but a far heavier and darker thing.”

  “She made a choice.” No mercy in the spymaster’s tone. “All of Charisemnon’s people made a choice, but the ones like Eryna? They had the power to defect and stand against him. Instead, they helped Charisemnon with his ugly quest—even if it was only by doing nothing. I can accept Eryna isn’t evil without ever forgiving her for her choice.”

  Sharine could say nothing to that. Ozias was right.

  Some choices echoed through time.

  “How do we hunt the perpetrator of the maulings?”

  “Lady Sharine, I am a spymaster,” was the quelling response.

  Even with Ozias’s skills and underground contacts, it took them two days to track down the murderer. An infected angel, as they’d feared. One who was beyond saving. Her entire body was a rotting green-black that was nothing natural, her claws hooked. But even had the physical deterioration not been so bad, her mind was gone. She was crazed.

  Her lack of reason was part of how Ozias had tracked her down—she’d become careless and devoid of cunning, wanting only to feed, only to gorge. Dropping her current victim’s body to the alley floor, she came at Ozias with claws outstretched, her mouth coated with blood.

  The spymaster was at the wrong angle to behead her without sustaining at least a small injury, and Sharine wasn’t about to risk her to infection as a result of those claws or teeth.

  A pinprick bolt of power, and she obliterated the angel’s chest.

  Crumpling in the alleyway in slow motion, the infected angel looked to Sharine and there was no peace in her eyes, nothing but fury and the manic need to devour. Then she was gone, one more victim of an archangel’s greed and vanity.

  45

  Titus was covered in reborn filth and exhausted from a night of fighting when his phone rang. He didn’t wish to speak to Sharine in such a state, but neither was he about to miss her call.

  But when he answered, it wasn’t her face that filled the screen. Two identical ones had taken her place; the interlopers had skin of deep brown and hazel eyes slanted sharply over equally dramatic cheekbones, their hair in matching sleek black tails. Most of the world couldn’t tell them apart.

  Titus wasn’t one of those people.

  “Zuri, Nala, I see you couldn’t help poking your nose into my business,” he grumbled, but his heart expanded to see them alive and well.

  “Oh, Tito”—Zuri blew him a kiss—“you know you missed us.”

  Nala, the quieter of the two, just smiled, and it was the roguish smile of the sister who’d snuck him out of the Refuge so they could go track a bunch of tiger cubs. Zuri, meanwhile, had taught him to ride a wild stallion. Creatures with wings didn’t usually ride such beasts, but his sisters had never much cared for the ordinary way of things.

  “What have you done with Sharine?” he asked, wondering what she’d made of the twins.

  “We asked with much politeness if we could use her phone to speak to our brother—since you now have a phone.” A gleeful Zuri held up another phone. “I’ve put your number in mine and Nala’s phones, too. Now we don’t have to write you letters!”

  Titus half groaned, half laughed, while the twins grinned. “The reborn cleanup?”

  “Close to done on this side. Your beautiful and dangerous spymaster agrees with me.”

  Lowering his brows, Titus pointed at Zuri. “Do not seduce Ozias.” His sister had inherited their mother’s ability to turn lovers into slaves. “I don’t wish to deal with a spymaster with a broken heart.”

  Nala spoke for the first time. “I don’t know, Tito. I think your Ozias might crush Zuri here under her boot, and Zuri will be grateful for it.”

  As Zuri shot her twin a glare, Titus found himself laughing. It was good to see his sisters, good to speak with them, good to hear their banter. “Is the boy with you?”

  “Xander is gazing in awe at Lady Sharine.” Zuri waggled her eyebrows. “Careful, baby brother, or young Xander might steal your lady.”

  Of course his sisters had already worked out that Sharine was special to him. “Sharine will shred any man who dares lay a hand on her without permission. She can’t be stolen.” No, his Shari would decide to whom she’d give herself . . . and if she decided to give him nothing but a fleeting moment of eternity, he’d take it.

  Not that Titus was going to give up on fighting for forever. He wasn’t a man who surrendered at the first hurdle. The choice, however, would be hers. Always. “Report,” he said.

  The words Zuri spoke now were of a commander in an archangel’s forces. She gave him numbers of nests cleared, updates on the situation in the outlying regions, and a rundown on the wounded among their squadrons. “The reborn infestation in the north was nothing in comparison to what we’ve heard of the south,” she finished. “A week at the most to deal with the final nests, and we should be in Narja.”

  “Rest there, then fly on to me,” he said. “Much work remains to be done in the lower half of the southern part of the continent.”

  “I’ve been an astonishingly brilliant ambassador for you, little brother,” Zuri added after the formal report. “Half the continent is now in love with me.” Buffing her nails on the leather of her jerkin, she beamed. “The other half are panting after our enigmatic Nala.”

  He couldn’t help his bark of laughter; he did love his sisters.

  After a touch more family chatter, including updates on Charo and Phenie, the twins passed the phone to Sharine. As always, the sight of her knocked all the air out of his lungs even as sunshine flooded his bloodstream.

  Sharine had become his sun, the star around which he revolved.

  The realization still terrified him on a daily basis, but Titus was no lily-livered coward. “I hope my sisters aren’t driving you too mad?”

  “Truly, they’re wonderful.” A smile so deep he could almost touch it. “They do adore you, you know. Such praise I’ve heard of your exploits, Titus. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you a god among men.”

  He scowled. “I am a god among men.” But he had something far more important on his mind. “Zuri tells me that another week or so and you’ll be back in Narja.”

  Sharine inclined her head. “It’ll ease your heart to know that this side of the continent breathes easier. They’ve found hope in the heavy presence of angelic squadrons, as well as the methodical cleanup of reborn nests.”

  “Good.” Titus wanted his people to be able to live without fear. “I must continue to fight in the south for weeks to come.” Gut clenched, he said, “Will you be able to stay?”

  “No, I must return to Lumia.” No smile now, the remnants of play eclipsed by harsh reality. “All is well there at present, but the world is fragile and Lumia is a symbol. Angelkind needs to see that everything remains stable in that s
mall pocket of civilization.”

  Titus had known her answer before he asked; he understood the responsibility she carried on her slender shoulders. “Then I will come to you.” A rough promise. “After this is done, I’ll come to you and we’ll dance in that fire.”

  Her eyes glowed from within.

  * * *

  * * *

  As it was, fate changed their plans six days later.

  The team in charge of discovering the secrets held in the body of Charisemnon’s child contacted Titus with the news that they’d solved the enigma of her blood. Aware he could no longer justify leaving the Cadre in the dark, he flew back home at speed and arrived at sunset to find the northern squadrons settling in.

  Sharine was in her suite, preparing to leave for Lumia on the dawn.

  Taking her hand, the gauntlet around his wrist and lower forearm catching the fading light, he ran the pad of his thumb over her skin. “Sira called you?” Titus had instructed the healer to share all knowledge of the child with Sharine.

  Fingers sliding between his, their hands entwined, she said, “Yes. I went down to the isolation ward after my arrival and had a face-to-face chat, was able to view the results. Have you had a chance yet?”

  “Yes, it was my first stop.” Titus wanted badly to close the door to her suite, shut out the world, and just drink in Sharine, but he wasn’t Charisemnon, to wallow in his own desires when the fate of the world hung in the balance. “I must call a meeting of the Cadre.”

  A fleeting brush of her fingers on his jaw, then they were moving.

  Sharine went once more to take a position in a corner of the meeting room, out of sight of the cameras, but he shook his head. “Stand with me. You are my witness to all that has gone before.” No one would dare call him a liar, but given the utter depravity of what he planned to share, there was no reason not to add another voice to his own. It might stop the inevitable wave of disbelieving questions.