by Nalini Singh
In truth, it was all an excuse; he wanted Sharine beside him.
It took several minutes for the entire Cadre to respond. Each and every one of them had faces worn with exhaustion, though Aegaeon’s grew fiery with new energy the instant he laid eyes on Sharine. “Lady mine,” he began.
“You may address me as Lady Sharine,” was the icy interjection from Titus’s side.
He tried not to look smug.
“Caliane, my friend,” Sharine said with unhidden warmth while Aegaeon was yet gaping at her, “it’s good to see you.”
Eyes of intense, pure blue smiled. “Sharine.”
Since Caliane was the last one to join the meeting, Titus decided to begin without further delay. “Our friend Charisemnon left us another gift.”
As they listened, their faces growing angrier and more tense word by word, he told them of the pregnant infected angel—and of the child she’d borne. “The babe is of Charisemnon’s line and she’s typical of an angelic child in every way,” he said before the more hotheaded among the Cadre could explode at the fact he’d permitted her to live. “A perfect little girl.”
Caliane wrapped her arms around her body, her skin suddenly seeming thin over her bones. “She’s a carrier? Did the mother’s infection spread to her child?”
“No. The babe is a miracle.” A treasure undeserving of Charisemnon. “Her blood holds the cure to the angelic infection.”
A roar of questions.
Titus gave as many answers as he could, with Sharine answering an equal number.
“Yes, I was with the squadron that discovered the living infected angel,” she said after Titus told the Cadre of that angel. “He is the test subject for the cure, and he’s showing visible signs of improvement. Titus and I stand witness to that.”
Titus nodded. “The man no longer appears as if his skin is in the process of rotting. He’ll need much more time before he is himself, but the scientists tell me they’ve run laboratory experiments to test the cure against samples of his infected blood. The cure defeats the infection every single time.”
“Yes,” Sharine said, smoothly picking up the narrative. “Once cleansed of infection, the tested blood has proven immune to any attempts to reintroduce the sickness to it.”
He could see the members of the Cadre—all but Raphael—assessing and reassessing her as she spoke, but the only one in whose reaction he was interested was Aegaeon. The horse’s ass kept attempting to capture her attention.
She was having none of it.
Oh, she answered Aegaeon’s questions, but she gave him nothing more. The blue-green-haired donkey finally got the message and stopped shoving himself to the forefront—but Titus knew this wasn’t the end of it. Sharine was . . . radiant in her full power, and the piece of steaming shat was realizing too late what he’d thrown away.
Today, however, was about an innocent babe.
“We can’t begin this new era by killing a child.” It was Caliane who spoke. Caliane, who’d already admitted that the massacre she’d once orchestrated made her less than an impartial party in such discussions.
Neha, too, nodded. “I’ve had to kill far too many children in the recent past. It is enough.” Her face was haggard, exhaustion heavy on her shoulders. “We must allow this child to live—while maintaining a careful watch and running regular tests to ensure Charisemnon didn’t hide within her, another plague.”
Titus had already considered that the infant might be both a treasure and a weapon. “I propose that we keep her in Charisemnon’s border court for the time being. As young as she is, so long as she has attention and care, she won’t miss the lack of other children.” Angelic children grew at a glacial pace in mortal terms; Sira’s team would have plenty of time to unearth all the answers.
“Does she have a name?” Caliane’s quiet voice. “Every child should have a name.”
“Zawadi.” All this time, in a foolish attempt to maintain distance, he hadn’t given the child a name, but he’d always known what it would be—and his Shari agreed. Her second name would be Asmaerah, the name of the courageous woman who had been her mother.
“A gift,” Alexander murmured. “I hope you prove right to name her thus, my friend.”
“You don’t have the capacity to raise her.” Hands on his hips, Aegaeon filled the screen with himself. “Not with the world as it is.”
True words—just brayed by a self-important peacock.
“One of my people has already bonded to the child and is willing to take the position.”
“She is young and full of hope,” Sharine added. “Most importantly, little Zawadi is happy with her. Titus and I will oversee her care regardless—in saving her life, we took responsibility for that life.”
“When can your scientists send the cure to the rest of us?” Alexander shoved a hand through his hair, the strands overlong in a way Titus had not before seen.
The Ancient hadn’t been the same since he’d carried Zanaya’s wasted body to her place of Sleep. It made Titus believe that Zanaya was to Alexander what Sharine had become to Titus. If so, he could well imagine his friend’s anguish.
“Yes.” Aegaeon, butting in again. “It’s possible the infection did cross the border.”
“Within the week,” Titus said. “It’s a priority for the team on the task.”
Dropping her arms, Caliane spread out wings edged with a glow. “Then we’re done here—unless any of you have an argument with the decision?” When no one raised an objection, she said, “The Cadre has spoken.”
The archangels began to sign off. Raphael did so with a smile for Sharine that reached his eyes. For a second, Titus was sure he saw a glitter of light in the Cascade mark on Raphael’s temple, but no, the mark was as dark as it had been since the end of the war.
“I’ll call once you’re at Lumia,” the pup said to Sharine, “and we can speak longer.”
“You need rest, Raphael.” Maternal chiding. “I can see you haven’t been eating or sleeping as you should.”
That Raphael simply took the chiding told Titus there was much he didn’t know about the relationship between Sharine and the youngest member of the Cadre. So much life she’d lived, so many loves she nurtured in her heart.
“I’ll recover.” Raphael’s smile formed creases in his cheeks. “So will my city. Elena has voluntarily promised to organize a block party when New York shines once again.”
“I await my invitation!” Titus boomed; he’d had a grand time at the last one. But this time, he’d either dance in the streets with Sharine . . . or he’d stay home, a brokenhearted mess of a man.
The image should’ve made him back off, run. It was the one thing he’d never wanted—to be so reliant on a woman’s favor. But not only did he stay in place, he gloried in the lush caress of her voice as she farewelled Raphael. “My love to you both. Tell Elena I wear her gift each and every day.”
“I know my consort will be glad to hear it.” Raphael signed off.
When Titus saw Aegaeon hovering in wait, he sent his technician a mental command to “accidentally” cut the connection. At last, he was alone with the woman who’d ruined him for all others.
He had no fucking idea what he’d do if it all went wrong.
Turning to her, he held out a hand. “I’m filthy now, but after I bathe, will you spend the night in my arms?” The next hours would be the last free ones he’d have for weeks—perhaps months—to come. “I must rest before I fly back to my troops. I wouldn’t do it without you.”
A slender but strong hand sliding into his, eyes of champagne light dazzling in their penetrating beauty. “Yes.”
But she didn’t pull away at the door to his suite, to wait for him while he bathed. No, she followed him inside, then very deliberately locked the door. He’d landed on her balcony when he flew home, so his balcony doors were already shut.
Heart thunder and breath tight, he stood motionless as she moved toward him.
When she dropped her hands to his left gauntlet, he held it up and allowed her to unclasp it. She put it aside on a nearby table, then returned to unclasp the right gauntlet. He had to go down on one knee so she could remove the shoulder guards, and though he’d never knelt before any other lover, it didn’t feel wrong to kneel for her.
This, what lived between them, it was no game of power.
It was a thing deep and true and terrifying.
Rising again after the shoulder guards were gone, he spread out his wings so she could unclasp the intricate mechanisms of the back guard and breastplate, then lifted off both and put them on the table beside the other pieces. His next action was to strip off his black undershirt. His boots and socks, he’d already abandoned on her balcony, they were so encrusted with gore.
It left him dressed only in battered pants of dark brown.
Taking his hand, Sharine led him to the bath that Yash had already prepared—his steward, when not out in the field, was a stickler about doing certain tasks himself. It was a huge tub, as befit an archangel and a man of his size. Steam rose from the surface, the water a milky aqua-blue as a result of the natural minerals of the springs from which it was fed.
He looked down at the filth of himself and grimaced. “I need to wash off first.” Not a man in any way uncomfortable with his body, he went to strip off his pants so he could step under the large showerhead to the right when a sudden heat burned his cheeks. “Do you . . . ?”
Husky laughter. “Did I not tell you archangels have the same parts as any man?”
He was about to scowl at her when she put her hands to the bottom of her tunic and pulled it off over her head. He almost swallowed his tongue. Sharine wasn’t wearing a singlet today.
Holding his gaze, she pushed down her pants and the little scrap of lace and silk she’d been wearing beneath.
Titus was finding it difficult to breathe, and when she said, “Hurry,” he thought his rib cage would crack in two.
Almost tripping over himself in his haste to strip off his pants, he looked up just in time to see her undo the tie on her hair. A river of gold-tipped black tumbled down her back, almost reaching the curve of her ass.
He hitched on the last word. It seemed a highly inappropriate way to think of the Hummingbird.
But this wasn’t the Hummingbird. This was Sharine, who stepped under the falling water and gave him a look sultry and impatient. He joined her, his hand already on her very fine ass. Turning, she picked up the simple washcloth he preferred over the fripperies his staff occasionally attempted to foist on him, and soaped it up.
Then, as he threw back his head under the cleansing cascade of water, she ran the washcloth over every inch of him she could reach, wiping away the blood and gore and the stain of death. He’d been hard since the moment she entered his suite but his erection was a rigid length of iron by the time she was done.
Closing soapy fingers around it, she stroked.
He gripped her wrist. “Enough torture for now, Shari.”
Laughter full of primal delight and a kiss so reckless that he gripped her hips and hitched her up. She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist. Pressing her back against the simple black tile of his bathing chamber, her wings a dazzle of color, he reached down between her legs to pleasure her . . . only to find her slick in a way that had nothing to do with water.
A groan tore out of him as he broke the kiss to look down, watch his fingers move on her, in her. She clenched around his finger, her hands tight on his head when he bent to suck one dark pink nipple into his mouth.
He could feast on her for days, months, years . . . forever.
Shoving aside the need in his heart and all that it implied, he worked another finger into her. She wrenched up his head. “Enough.” Chest heaving, she kissed him again, all tongue and demand. “I would have you now, Titus.”
He could no more deny her than he could suddenly become a quiet man. Moving backward and out of the water, he sat down on the wide ledge of his bath, with her seated on him, and then he let Sharine take him. He, a warrior archangel who’d never allowed anyone to have him, allowed her whatever it was she wished. She was incredibly tight and at one point, he gripped her at the waist to slow her descent.
“No pain, Shari.” It came out ragged, the pulsing heat of her clenching on the top half of his cock scrambling his mind. “I’ll never cause you pain.”
“I’m just”—a breath—“a little”—another breath—“out of practice.” Pushing away his hands, she put her own on his shoulders and sank home with a soft cry that almost made him lose his seed then and there.
Muscles quivering—he, Titus, quivering—he held motionless as a hunting lion as she adjusted to his length and girth. Her core spasmed around him. It tore a primal and aggressive sound out of him, but Sharine didn’t scare. She slid her hands up his chest as she leaned in to kiss the center of his Cascade tattoo.
He swore the gold of it pulsed.
“You’re perfection in how you’re built,” she said to him. “But more, you have a courage and a heart that beguile me.”
He wanted to preen at the caress of words, but he had his teeth clenched in an effort to find a small measure of control. Cupping her ass, he squeezed, then slid his hands up to cup her breasts, play with her nipples. The champagne of her eyes grew cloudy, her body starting to move on his.
Bending his mouth to her throat, he covered one taut breast with his palm at the same time. His breath was hot against her skin as he said, “I want to devour you in a million ways.” Lick and suck and taste and keep. “I want to make it impossible for you to ever forget Titus, Archangel of Africa.” Raw words spoken so roughly she couldn’t have understood them.
“Titus, Titus, Titus.” Hot little breaths against him, her body moving out of rhythm.
Sweat rolled down his temples, his control ragged and prone to fracturing. Wrapping her up in his arms and in his wings, he took her mouth in a rampantly possessive kiss as she pressed her palms to his chest and pulsed so hard around him that it was the final straw.
One hand on her sweet lower curves, he thrust into her in a rhythm that she reciprocated with a fury, no delicacy or ethereal distance to her. Perspiration dotted her skin, and sexual fire burned in her eyes. She was earthy and real and beautiful beyond compare. When she sighed his name again as her pleasure overcame her in waves that rocked her entire body, he broke into a thousand pieces that only she could put back together.
Titus, Archangel of Africa, had given his heart to Sharine, once the Hummingbird.
46
Sharine looked at the letter in her hand. Once again, it was Trace who’d handed it to her and, once again, the envelope was of expensive and heavy paper. But this bore the seal not of the Cadre, but of Aegaeon.
She stared out at the horizon, toward the south, as she did every evening at sunset. It’d been two weeks since she’d last spoken to Titus; he and his troops had hit a massive cluster of reborn who were no longer obeying the day and night divide—they’d been fighting nonstop for the past fourteen days.
It had been even longer since she’d parted from him in the sky above the thriving heart of Narja. Months of distance. She knew she’d made the right decision in coming to Lumia, as even among angelkind, symbols mattered. It was why Titus wore his armor and why New York’s Archangel Tower was the first structure to be repaired in the city. Right now, Sharine wasn’t just the guardian of their artistic histories and glories, she was the embodiment of angelic survival.
“No matter how awful the world,” Archangel Neha had said to her only a week earlier, “all of us can look toward Lumia and know that we as a people are capable of creating things lovely and extraordinary. I do believe it’ll break us all should Lumia fall.”
Be that
as it may, Sharine strained against the urge to race to Titus’s side, her bighearted archangel who’d loved her with such raw passion their one night together. He’d left an imprint not just on her body but on her heart. She knew worrying about him was foolishness, that an archangel couldn’t be so easily harmed.
Yet she watched the skies.
Because those skies would shatter should Titus fall. She knew that as she knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west.
As for the far less honorable archangel who’d sent her a letter . . .
Breaking the seal, she removed the folded piece of paper within.
My dearest lady, I know you are angry with me, and you have every reason to nurture such anger, but I hope you’ll do me the honor of accepting a visit fourteen days hence.
I aim to arrive by the evening hour, so that we may enjoy a meal together and reminisce. It has been too long, and I find myself lost often in thoughts of our life together—and of our son, so headstrong and brave.
Till then.
Sharine snorted.
“Is this a bad time, Lady Sharine?”
She glanced up at Trace’s smooth tone, the vampire having returned through the door via which he’d only recently left. “Did you know that egotistical arrogance has a scent?” She lifted up the page she held. “This letter reeks of it should you wish a sniff.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” said the scamp, his eyes dancing. “I came to convey an invitation—the Lumia squadron would be honored if you’d dine with them this eve.”
“Of course.” Sharine enjoyed speaking with her warriors, and tonight was a special one, for tomorrow, three of her warriors would rotate out and head home, to be replaced by three others.
It was the second of an archangel who’d quietly made the request that three of his senior warriors could do with a respite, and she’d as quietly made a personal request of all three. The warriors had agreed because she was the Hummingbird, and now they’d have time to heal their hearts while they watched over Lumia.
