Archangel's Sun (A Guild Hunter Novel)

by Nalini Singh

She’d never again be the angel of old, but she’d decided not to leave the Hummingbird totally in the past. She’d done a lot of good and all of angelkind trusted her.

  A rare and unique gift that shouldn’t be squandered.

  “I leave you to the scent of arrogance, my lady.” A bow so suave it was poetry.

  Smiling, she returned her attention to the letter. It was just like Aegaeon to pretend to be asking permission, but to actually be dictating terms. Her immediate response was to carrier back a cool rejection, but then she paused, thought about it. The past was past, yes, but one question haunted her to this day.

  So she’d take this chance to ask it.

  She’d face the man who was, to her, the embodiment of cruelty. “Come, Aegaeon. I think it’s time this was done.”

  It was as she was returning inside to ready herself for the dinner with her squadron that her phone rang. Illium’s face filled the screen. “My son,” she said, her heart ablaze with piercing love. “You surprise me.”

  “Ha! I’m not the one dispensing surprises.” Suspicious eyes. “A little bird told me that you and Titus . . .” He blew out a breath, the arches of his healing wings shifting against a background that told her he was in his Tower suite. “Is it true?”

  Sharine smiled at the streaks of color on his cheekbones. “Would it shock you if it was?”

  Eyes of beaten gold connecting with hers, the blush forgotten. “I like Titus, but I don’t want you hurt.”

  Still protecting her, her beautiful child who’d had to look after his mother for far too long. “I’m living now, Illium,” she said, gentle because he’d earned such gentleness even when he trod where most children would never be permitted. “I won’t hide, not even from pain. I’ll never again choose to hide when I can spread my wings and breathe the air and yes, make mistakes and grow.”

  Her son took in her face. “You’re truly different,” he said at last, a faint smile edging his lips. “Do you remember how I once insisted you paint me blue from head to toe and you did?”

  “Oh.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “You were so very small! How do you remember?”

  A shrug that reminded her of the boy he’d been. “I was so excited to be blue.” Smile segueing into a grin, he said, “Does Titus know who you are when you’re you?”

  Bubbles of laughter in her bloodstream. “Oh, yes, I’ve concealed nothing from him. He considers me stubborn and aggravating in the extreme.”

  A burst of laughter from Illium that made her join in, it was so wildly infectious. When they both calmed down, he said, “I think I’m going to mind my own business now, and not think too hard about what you might be up to with Titus.”

  She bit back her smile. “Such is wise indeed, else you might have nightmares.”

  “Mother.” His tone was stern, but when she asked him about his life, he answered in good humor, and they ended the conversation with words of love from a mother to her son, and a son to his mother.

  Then, of course, she had to call Aodhan, too, to ensure he was well. He’d heard rumors of a possible liaison between her and Titus, and had the same reason to ask her about it. “I wouldn’t have you in pain, Eh-ma.” Emotion-filled words, his eyes shards of blue and green shattering outward from a black pupil.

  Truly, she thought after the conversation ended, she was blessed to have known two such hearts from childhood.

  Darkness lay heavy on the horizon now. She knew the worst of it was about to begin for Titus and his people; her stomach clenched as it did every night at this hour, a visceral fear thick in her blood. “Stay safe, Titus. Fly home to me.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Titus had been battling the reborn for months.

  So he could hardly believe it when the day came that he found himself standing at the southern tip of his territory, after a blazing wave of battle that laid waste to reborn nest after reborn nest. The Guild Hunters had come through again and again, and though Titus knew that he and his troops hadn’t wiped out the scourge, it was now a matter of isolated nests, and of hunting down lone reborn who’d managed to evade the hunt.

  The rotting and infectious creatures were no longer a plague over his land. His people could once more farm their lands, build their homes, live lives free of constant fear.

  The first thing he did—after allowing himself a roar of victory echoed by his troops—was gather together all senior field commanders, loop in Tzadiq from Narja, and nut out a plan for eliminating those reborn who’d slipped through the net. Tzadiq took on the duty of creating specialist squadrons who’d work with equally specialist vampiric and Guild Hunter teams.

  The other members of the Guild would return to their normal duties because sadly, Africa wasn’t proof from idiot vampires.

  The rest of Titus’s forces would turn their minds to assisting people who’d been scraping by with far too little. With the northern half of the continent declared clear much earlier, Tzadiq had already repurposed the standing force of multiple cities to outward areas, their task to assist farmers to rebuild, put up heavy-duty fences, and take other such necessary protections against any lingering reborn.

  “Charisemnon’s commanders stared at me as if I was talking gibberish when I gave that order,” Tzadiq had told him when they’d spoken at the time. “The idea of sullying their hands with anything but battle glory seemed to be beyond them.”

  Titus had snorted; he felt no surprise that Charisemnon’s troops knew nothing of what it was to be part of a functioning ecosystem. “How do they believe the cities will be fed if the farms go fallow? No other territory is in a much better position, so we can’t rely on imported food.”

  While vampires could survive on blood, angels needed to eat. And Titus would be damned if he permitted food to be redirected to angels rather than mortals. The latter starved far quicker than those of his kind. “Charisemnon’s angels know immortals won’t be head of the queue for any food supplies?”

  “I did point that out, and light dawned for half of them—but with the rest, I showed them the rapid pace of rebuilding in New York. A shot of Raphael lifting a wall into place seemed to rip the blinkers from their eyes.”

  Titus hadn’t been the least angered that his second had used the image of another archangel to inspire the commanders. New York had been devastated in the war, archangelic fire taking out huge areas of the city. If a sense of competition was what it took to kick their lard asses into gear, he’d use it.

  “Commander Eryna,” Tzadiq had added, “she’s proved one of the best. The regions under her command are back up and running, with the first fast-growing crops ready to harvest.

  “I’ve also been impressed with one of the junior vampire commanders—Khan’s on the ground in one of the cities worst-hit by reborn in the north, and he’s managed to organize mortal and immortal teams into efficient cleanup and rebuild crews. He’s doing more work than the angelic commander, but I’ve left the angel in place for now for continuity.”

  Titus made a note of the names, but he knew he could rely on Tzadiq to build him a list of those commanders who could be trusted to work without constant supervision; such angels and vampires were priceless. As for the others, he’d be demoting them as soon as things began to equalize.

  Titus had no room in his territory for those who rose up the ranks by standing on the hard work of others.

  With the planning meeting over, he stood on the rocks above the crashing water that broke against the tip of his territory and felt a fierce pride in every man, woman, and child who’d fought with such defiant courage to get them to this state. His pride in the Cadre was no less intense.

  In this devastating time, they’d forgotten politics and vanity and acted as one.

  Neha, exhausted and heartsick, had shipped his fighters massive cases of a wine made only in India. I hope this gives your troops a little joy, she’d writt
en in her elegant hand.

  It had, and he wouldn’t forget that.

  Elijah’s second had shipped equally large cases of dark chocolate, a beloved export of Eli’s territory. Rather than using it as an indulgence, Tzadiq had utilized the chocolate as high-energy food to tide over those settlements that were down to the bare bones, their cupboards empty and their fields unplowed.

  Qin, distant in the Pacific, had worked with Raphael and with Eli’s people to ensure that part of the globe didn’t crumble and shatter. Caliane had thrown her weight and power behind Suyin and Neha. As for Alexander and Raphael, both the old man and the pup would always have Titus’s friendship and love.

  Even that donkey Aegaeon had sent multiple squadrons to Africa to assist in the final two weeks of reborn cleanup. Titus’s lip curled. He despised the other archangel as a man and would do so for eternity, but he had to admit Aegaeon did his duty as an archangel.

  Titus’s own territory had been the worst hit postwar, and the rest of the Cadre expected nothing from him but that he stop the reborn advance, but Africa had gone much further. Every single territory now had access to the cure. Titus’s healers and scholars and makers of such things had worked day and night to accelerate the pace of production. As for the angel discovered by Ozias and Sharine, he’d regained his senses . . . and his memories of eating living flesh.

  Physically yet weak, his biggest trouble at this point was his mind. He tended to vomit at the sight of solid food, so the healers had him on liquids. Nothing that might remind him of tearing off hunks of his victim’s flesh.

  “It’s psychological, not physiological,” Sira had confirmed. “He’s cured, but as to whether he will ever heal . . . that I can’t predict.”

  It was a nightmare to imagine what angelkind would’ve looked like had the infection spread widely before they discovered the cure. Charisemnon could’ve brought their entire people to their knees, horror their breath.

  But Charisemnon was defeated, his legacy of evil extinguished.

  It’s done, he messaged Sharine. The rest of the hard work begins.

  Archangels, one and all, were worn down to the bone, and while Elijah’s consort had shared the good news that his healing had progressed to the point where he’d soon wake, they still had no idea when or if Astaad and Michaela would return.

  To date, Titus hadn’t had any real problem with vampires giving in to bloodlust; everyone had been so afraid of the reborn that they hadn’t had the energy to do anything but fight. Other territories hadn’t been so lucky.

  Which was why, despite his need to see Sharine, touch her, hear her voice, he set a slow and steady pace on his flight back to his citadel. He wanted to be sure he was seen, his power noted. Landing in multiple locations, he was frank about the fact that vampires who forced him to divert resources because of bloodlust or simple stupidity would all be given the same sentence: death.

  “Make it known,” he told the leader of a large vampire kiss. “I have no patience and even less inclination to tell the Guild Hunters to return rogue vampires to their masters for punishment. Field executions have been authorized across the board.” If a hunter balked, one of Titus’s commanders would do the task. “This is the only warning you’ll get.”

  The vampire in front of him, a mostly useless type who’d cowered behind the safe walls of his residence during the past months, went deathly pale, then bowed. “Sire, I’ll spread the word.”

  Certain it would travel with wildfire speed across the continent, Titus continued on. On reaching his citadel, he bathed properly for the first time in what felt like an eon, then dressed in dark brown pants that hugged his thighs—for Sharine did like his thighs—and a crisp white tunic with a standing collar and no sleeves. Gold embroidery curled around the collar and on the bottom edges of the tunic.

  His eye fell on the small velvet box that sat on the table beside his bed.

  Tzadiq had come through for him on the highly specific item Titus had asked him to procure. Removing it from the box, he slipped it into a pocket in his pants with care, then pulled on his sword harness. Thrusting his swords into place on his back not long afterward, he looked at himself in the mirror and nodded. He looked what he was: a warrior in mind to court and win his lady.

  Titus didn’t even think of failure. That way lay a paralyzing anguish.

  His first step, however, was to find his second.

  “It’s good to see you, sire.” Tzadiq clasped forearms with him, the two of them coming into the back-slapping embrace of warriors.

  “I thank you, Tzadiq.” He didn’t need to spell out why—Tzadiq had run the territory while Titus was in the field; it had been a sacrifice to remove him from battle, and he knew Tzadiq had chafed at being in the citadel, but his second also understood the reason why.

  There was no point in winning the war if the territory collapsed in the interim.

  “Is there anything I should know?” Tzadiq had kept him up to date with daily briefings until Titus began the journey home.

  “A number of updates.” After quickly going through the list, Tzadiq ran his eyes over Titus. “I see you’re going courting.”

  “She is a rare treasure. But I’m a rare man. I will win her.” It was a hope rather than a certainty; for the first time in his existence, he knew this was a private battle he could lose and lose hard.

  “I wish you well, sire. Lady Sharine would be a most glorious consort.”

  It was a dream potent and piercing.

  “Focus on wooing her first,” he ordered himself as he left the citadel. “Until she can’t be without you.” After all, he already dreamed of her every night, only to wake with an aching sense of loss.

  It took him longer than usual to fly to Lumia, as he stopped multiple times on this side of the continent, too—including at the village where he’d shared mead with the headman in what felt akin to another lifetime.

  A lifetime in which he hadn’t yet understood who Sharine was to him. Such seemed an impossibility now, she was so embedded in every part of him.

  “Archangel!” The headman was alive and well, his eyes sparkling and his legs planted on the soil of a freshly turned plot. Hands pressed atop the handle of a spade, he beamed at Titus. “You kept your promise.” A wetter shine in his eyes and no hint of a cough in his voice. “Our village didn’t starve and now we begin to grow again.”

  These small wins, Titus knew, were the fertile soil in which would grow the loyalty of this entire new section of his territory. When he flew on, it was with the knowledge that he’d continue to face pockets of sullen dislike for years to come, but he was an immortal.

  Time was on his side.

  He stopped to wash himself and his clothes the next morn, and they dried as he flew; he crossed the border into Lumia at sunset, the scouts acknowledging his presence while staying out of his way. He knew they’d warn Sharine of his arrival—he might be the archangel of this territory, but he wasn’t Archangel of Lumia. Lumia was its own small civilization, one that belonged to all angelkind, and functioned under the auspices of the Cadre as a group.

  Unfortunately, it also meant no one gave him early warning that another archangel was about to land in Lumia. From the steep rate of Aegaeon’s descent, the blue-green donkey had flown high above the cloud layer as he crossed the border into Titus’s land on his way to Lumia. High enough that no one could accuse him of breaching Titus’s territory.

  His destination was Lumia, his target Sharine.

  Titus’s hands curled into heavy fists, his wings beginning to glow.

  47

  Titus. A voice layered in silks and built of music, from a woman who stood on a distant rooftop, her gown a floating creation that reminded him of starlight. I see you.

  Her unhidden happiness punctured the bubble of his fury. Shari. Your wings glow against the falling night. But he couldn’t simply admire an
d charm her as he’d planned, not with the blue-green irritation on the horizon. What is the donkey doing here?

  If you mean Aegaeon, he wishes a conversation. She didn’t turn to look up at the plummeting form of the archangel who’d once been her lover. Don’t murder him. I’ll deal with this myself.

  Titus’s spine felt as if it would snap; to not act as her shield went against every part of his nature. Shari! It came out a mental boom when he’d been aiming for calm and considerate.

  This battle is mine, Titus. His metaphorical blood is mine. Pure tempered steel.

  His Shari was a warrior, he reminded himself. Not the kind of warrior to whom he’d long been used, but a warrior nonetheless. And Aegaeon’s hide was hers to take. But another thing was also true: I won’t be able to help myself if I’m there on the roof with him.

  I know. His posturing will lead to bloodshed. She spread out her wings in a dazzling display that he knew was a caress. Land elsewhere while I do this—but you can listen in.

  About to argue before she added that last, he snapped his mouth shut just as she reversed their mental link so he could hear what was going on in her conversation. Extraordinary. It’d taken him a chunk of his reign as an archangel before he’d worked out that technique.

  Sharine was never going to stop surprising him.

  She had within her knives far more lethal than Aegaeon realized.

  Smiling with a sudden grim anticipation, he shifted course to land on a nearby mountaintop scattered with rocks and the odd hardy grass. He was not in the mood for people. He was also fast enough to intercede should Aegaeon forget himself and dare lay a hand on Titus’s Sharine.

  * * *

  * * *

  The silken blue-green of Aegaeon’s hair was showcased to perfection against the falling edge of the day, his eyes equally brilliant against the gold of his skin. He’d put on silver upper-body armor that hid the silver swirl on his chest, but that armor was more decoration than protection.