by Nalini Singh
“Reborn?”
She nodded. “He spotted a lone one crawling away into the shadows of a tree, dropped to take it out—but a second one jumped out at him from a hiding spot. He wasn’t scratched or bitten, but his wing muscles need a day to heal.”
Titus nodded his permission to her request and told her to take along the angel who stood guard in the courtyard. He was here to watch over Sharine now. After Kiama’s departure, he turned to find Sharine looking down at the book again. Her long tail of hair had slipped to one side to reveal the slender line of her neck and the gentle slope of her shoulders.
No one looking at her would believe that she was made of titanium and had a temper hot enough to set the sky aflame. And still he tempted that temper by bending to press a kiss to the spot where her neck flowed into her back.
She shivered. “Titus.” No anger after all, and her eyes held an otherworldly glow when their gazes met.
Outside of a Cascade, only one thing was supposed to glow among angelkind—an archangel’s wings when he was about to release his deadly power. Yet her eyes held a light that wasn’t from the sun. He accepted that. She was Sharine, and Sharine made her own rules.
Today, she rose on her toes and he bent, and they met in between in a kiss that had him groaning, his hands gripping her hips. When he lifted her up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and met him lick for lick, taste for taste, her chest pressed to the damp plane of his. Heart booming and air no longer necessary, he crushed her close and kissed her like a man starving.
Her breasts were the perfect size for her body and they had nipples that pressed at him through her tunic until he wanted to tear off the tunic and suck hard, make them wet and slick. Shifting his hands to her lower curves, he bounced her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
Groaning, he turned to sit her down on the desk . . . and reality hit.
“Not here,” he said, breaking the kiss, his breath rough and his chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm. “Not in the home of my enemy.”
Sharine ran her hand over his jaw, the touch unexpectedly tender. “Agreed,” she said, then leaned in to kiss him one more time.
He didn’t want to release her when she began to unfold her legs, but he forced his grip to ease, though he kept his hands on her so she slid down his body. A smile was his reward, and he was gratified to see that her breathing was as jagged as his. Damp patches marred the light purple of her tunic.
“You make me feel young and reckless, Titus,” she said, and touched her lips to his chest before pulling away.
The spot where she’d kissed, it ached deep inside.
His response flat-out terrified him and he was man enough to admit it.
“What have you found?” he asked, his voice coming out rough with the weight of the emotions he didn’t want to feel.
“Let me read out Charisemnon’s own words—you tell me what you think it says.” She held up her hand when he would’ve spoken, his eyebrows lowered. “Stop glowering—I’m not testing you in some fashion.” Razored words that should’ve killed his arousal dead.
His cock hardened even further; clearly his body wasn’t interested in being rational. “Then what’s this about?”
Lips plump and pink from the passion of their kiss, she said, “I’m simply unsure if my emotions toward what Charisemnon did have colored my interpretation.”
“If you searched the world for the least objective person on the subject of Charisemnon, you’d find me,” Titus pointed out, hands on his hips. “He is lower than a cockroach in my estimation. At least a cockroach knows no better.”
“Just try,” she said on a huff of breath. “You’re a highly intelligent man. Think with the strategic part of your brain that you utilize in the battlefield.”
Preening a little—though he wasn’t about to show it—he folded his arms and jerked up his chin. “Read, then, and I’ll see what I hear.”
Her reading voice was lyrical and lovely and he had to fight to pay attention to her words.
“‘I am racing to a great success in building a masterwork out of Lijuan’s gift and my own,’” she read, “‘such success as has not been seen among my kind for eons upon eons. Lijuan says that she has reason to believe there was another as great as me at the dawn of our existence, that she has scrolls in her keeping that hint at the reason behind vampires and why the toxin lives in us. If she is right, that first architect of disease was indeed terrible and strong.’”
Moving around the room because standing still wasn’t his natural state, Titus snorted. “Of course he worships the worst of us.”
Ignoring his interruption, Sharine carried on. “‘But I will be better than that unknown angel. They are forgotten. No one will forget me for I will do the one thing he could not. He infected angels, but he wasn’t in control. I will be in control. I will decide who lives and who dies. My legacy will be of power so deadly that no one will stand against me. Not even Lijuan. Should she try, well, I have my weapons.’”
Throwing back his head, Titus laughed long and hard, his amusement profoundly real. “There is never any honor among evildoers. They would’ve eaten each other had they survived the war.” The image gave him great pleasure. “Is there more? Or has he finished patting himself on the back?”
“There’s more, but what do you hear in that part?” Closing the book, Sharine turned so that she was looking at him as he walked along the other side of the room. Her wings were brilliant splashes of color in this otherwise staid space, as if a butterfly had flown in from the outside.
“If the story the Legion told Raphael is true, then the archangel who created the toxin infected us all.” An act so terrible that it existed in their cells to this day. “So what could Charisemnon do that the other hadn’t already done?”
Sharine didn’t interrupt, letting him pace as he worked the options through in his mind. There was only one answer. “He’s talking about being able to infect and save people at will.” Blood hot, he met Sharine’s gaze. “The ass is talking about an antidote.”
“Yes, I had the same thought.” Putting the journal on the desk, she picked up another one bound in identical leather. “This is the previous journal. I decided to read it after completing the most recent one—I had a feeling he’d been planning this for far longer than we realized, perhaps far longer than even Lijuan was aware.”
“I’ve long thought that he must’ve had a backup plan that included a place to hole up and recover should the battle be going against him.” But Titus hadn’t given him that opportunity. “You think he’s hidden the antidote in his secret place?”
“Nothing I’ve read says he had the antidote, only that it was in progress.” She flipped to a section in the journal. “But here, look.”
She walked to him again, and in her excitement, didn’t stop fast enough. Their wings overlapped once more, her arm brushing his chest as she held out the journal. An odd feeling bloomed inside him at the realization that she was comfortable enough with him to stand so close to him.
A kiss in passion was one thing, an act done while they were both fully rational quite another. Because when it came down to it, he was an archangel and there was nothing she could do should he decide to harm her.
“There, do you see?”
Jerking his gaze to what she was indicating on the page, he went to remind her he couldn’t fluently read Charisemnon’s native tongue. But it wasn’t words this time. It was a diagram. A location. But the map had been sketched without markers or compass headings, done by someone who knew the location and thus had no need of such instructions.
Taking the journal from her, he ran a finger over the slope that had been sketched across two pages. Stars dotted the sky, but those stars didn’t appear to be in any kind of real-world order. A river or a stream ran in the distance before disappearing without warning—either it went underground at t
hat point, or Charisemnon hadn’t bothered to fully sketch it because it was of no interest to him.
What was most curious, however, was that within the hill was a residence. Charisemnon had drawn it like a dollhouse, with the front removed.
Either this was just an abandoned plan, or he’d built an entire stronghold under a mountain.
Right under Titus’s nose.
He rubbed his jaw. “I must speak to my spymaster. Let me see if she’s within reach.”
Sire, came the immediate response, I’m at the garrison. I came to speak to Tarik before I begin my sleep period.
Join us in the inner courtyard, Titus said. You can return to your foster brother soon. The two orphaned warriors had grown up together in Titus’s court and their bond was as tight today as the day they’d been born.
Turning to look down at Sharine’s uptilted face, he wanted to rub his thumb over her lips, steal another moment that had nothing to do with reborn or death. Curling his fingers into his palm instead, he told her what was happening. Sharine kept the relevant journal in hand as the two of them walked down to the inner courtyard.
“This place should be protected,” she said. “I know what you think of Charisemnon, but this repository of knowledge will be worth a great deal to our people.”
“Who knows what poison he dripped on those pages,” Titus muttered, “but I bow to your greater knowledge of such things.” He wasn’t so vengeful toward Charisemnon that he’d deprive angelkind of its rightful history. “I’ll tell our historians and librarians of its existence after things aren’t so dangerous. Else they might attempt to fly here now and I don’t need noncombatants taking up time or resources.”
A glance up, a raised eyebrow.
He rolled his eyes again, delighted at the effect it had on her. “In case you had failed to notice, you can fire energy bolts. You’re not a noncombatant.”
Sharine was quiet—unusually so—until he couldn’t stand it. “What are you plotting now?” he asked in open suspicion.
Her eyelashes flickered. “I was just thinking that you have many more facets than I first realized.” An almost prim statement, one he wasn’t sure quite how to take.
But they’d reached the courtyard, and his spymaster was landing in front of them. An angel of six feet one with striking bones, Ozias didn’t look like she could fly anywhere unseen or unwatched. However, this woman with skin of darkest brown and wildly curly black hair, her eyes only a slightly paler hue, had the ability to blend in anywhere. Especially since she often wore colors in the brown-black range and used makeup to soften her dramatic bone structure.
People didn’t notice her. Didn’t see her.
Her wings were like a falcon’s, all streaks of brown and black, with snaps of white. It was as if she’d been born to blend in, but that was a clever illusion. In battle, all the soldiers under Ozias’s command looked to her and found her every single time.
“Ozias,” he said, “this is Lady Sharine.” The introduction was more so his spymaster knew how to address Sharine than because Ozias wasn’t already conscious of her identity. “Sharine, my spymaster, Ozias.”
Ozias bent at the waist in the most respectful of bows. “My lady. It is an honor to meet you.”
“I think you are like Jason and must’ve often been in Lumia, a phantom unseen,” Sharine said, a laugh in her voice.
He saw the flicker in Ozias’s eyes as Sharine spoke, understood her stunned beat of silence. Sharine’s voice was a thing of beauty, luxuriant with elements it was impossible to describe, but that brushed over the skin like a caress. Titus was coming to think that it was a gift of sorts, as with his ability to cause quakes.
Because it wasn’t only archangels the Cascade had altered . . . and Sharine had lived through more than one Cascade.
“You have caught me,” Ozias said, her voice having turned a touch husky. “But to spy on you from a distance is one thing, and to meet you in person quite another.”
Sharine held out the journal. “Here is what we wished you to see.”
Taking the journal with careful hands, Ozias examined the diagram with care.
When Titus asked her whether or not she’d seen or heard anything that might indicate the construction of such a hidden new stronghold, she shook her head. “I would’ve put it in my reports, sire.” No edge to her tone; she had been by his side for hundreds of years, knew his question was no judgment.
“I never saw anything to indicate such construction, and neither did any of my people.” Ozias wasn’t one to show much emotion, but now she frowned. “But it’d be the height of arrogance for me to say it couldn’t be done. Even Jason, who I deeply respect, was unable to find the location where Lijuan Slept before her rising and I know he hunted with intense focus.”
Jason was Raphael’s spymaster and considered one of the best in the world. Titus would try to steal him except that it’d be a useless effort because Jason was blood-loyal. Also, despite her admiration of Jason, his own spymaster wouldn’t forgive him for at least seven decades. Ozias held her grudges tight.
“But,” he pointed out, “you have a far stronger network in Charisemnon’s territory then Jason did in China.” It was a matter of simple logistics—Titus was right across the border from his enemy; Ozias had double agents who’d lived so long in the north they were considered locals. “Is it even possible that you could’ve heard nothing at all about a project this big?”
She looked down for a second, the sunlight picking up the hidden red tones in the black of her hair. Slowly, she nodded. “You’re right, sire. I should’ve heard something, and that I didn’t makes me believe that either the diagram is of a historical residence—or it was constructed in one of the few locations where such a large enterprise could take place without anyone talking out of turn. It won’t be here.”
“Agreed.” Not only had they searched the entire stronghold compound, Ozias had too many spies in this court. A massive stronghold couldn’t run without all kinds of people, including low kitchen staff and cleaners. Charisemnon hadn’t been great about ensuring that his courtiers knew to treat those workers well. As a result, they’d been the easiest for Titus’s spymaster to turn.
“His far northern stronghold,” Ozias said, “two hours east of Lumia, is much smaller. I could never get a source within that stronghold, and we had to be content with stealth flyovers or things glimpsed from a distance. We’ve only done a cursory check there, to ensure nothing dangerous lies within.”
Looking up, eyes distant in thought, she added, “The only other possible location where an underground structure could’ve been built on the quiet is right on the border.”
Titus stared at one of his best people. “Have you had enough sleep, Ozias?” he asked in genuine concern.
A rare smile from a woman who’d once drunk him under the table on a lethal brew created by Charo of all people. Not that Titus had become drunk; the archangelic system was too strong for that. But he’d had to give up on the fiery burn of the stuff going down.
“I’m not losing my mind, sire,” she said. “I’m aware that was one of the most heavily watched and guarded areas while Charisemnon was alive.”
“Then how do you believe something of such significance could’ve been built without Titus’s knowledge?” Sharine’s brow was creased.
Titus wanted to take a finger and rub those marks away, yet at the same time, he accepted that Sharine had earned her marks, her scars. She would never be a woman he could leave safe and protected inside his citadel . . . and that was assuming she even agreed to stay with him.
Stay with him.
The thought hit him like a kick to the gut from a stone boot.
40
Titus was still reeling from the unforeseen blow when Ozias began to speak.
“Because of the constant battles that took place at the border—the vast majority of t
hem initiated by Charisemnon,” his spymaster said, “the buildings of the border garrison suffered relentless damage. All it would’ve taken was for Charisemnon to deliberately hit one of his own buildings by apparent accident. No one would’ve paid too much attention to any resulting construction, it was such a common sight.”
Wrenching his mind back to the present by literally shoving his other thoughts aside until he had the time to process them without panic, Titus considered Ozias’s theory with care. He was loath to credit his enemy with anything, but Charisemnon had never been a fool. “If he did this, it was an act of subtle genius.” The words pained him. “You had spies at the border yet you heard nothing of it.”
“That’s exactly it, sire.” Ozias shook her head. “No one would’ve thought to bother me with news of more construction. Even an underground structure isn’t unusual on the border—we have our own bunkers.” That last piece of information was directed at Sharine.
“Such cunning,” Sharine murmured, her wing brushing Titus’s . . . because he’d shifted closer.
Titus folded his arms. “If your supposition is correct, Ozias, I can’t believe that dog’s shat of an archangel fooled me.”
“You speak for me, too, sire.” Ozias had a strange look on her face—a mixture of pained admiration and horrible embarrassment, but she recovered valiantly. “If I were Archangel Charisemnon, I wouldn’t have kept the construction a secret.
“I would’ve even allowed the resulting building to be used for various border garrison purposes, then slowly shifted people out, except perhaps for a trusted few. Done gently enough, no one would think anything of it.”
“Especially,” Titus said, “if the building atop the underground structure was damaged again and never properly rebuilt.”
Ozias nodded. “Charisemnon could’ve told his people to abandon that oft-hit area and put their energies into constructing a building away from such a dangerous location.”