by Nalini Singh
Drawn to what was surely a treasure beyond price, she glanced around but saw no one else. She couldn’t resist. Going up the steps, she didn’t touch but bent to closely examine the carvings. Eerie, haunting, and disturbing in equal measures, they made her fingers itch once again for a pencil and a paper so she could record what she was seeing.
“Astonishing, is it not?”
The spectral voice was filled with a thousand echoes, with endless screams. As if behind that voice stood countless trapped souls. Spine threatening to lock as her skin iced over, Andromeda shifted on her heel to look around, but the metal disk on the opposite wall reflected only her own image back at her.
That meant nothing. Not when it came to the Archangel of China.
Abdominal muscles clenched tight, she walked down the steps and, making the decision to face the throne, clasped her hands in front of her. “Yes, my Lady,” she said. “I apologize if I overstepped.”
“It is to a scholar’s credit to be curious.” A frigid rush of air and then Zhou Lijuan appeared on the throne in a whisper of light and shadow that Andromeda’s mind struggled to comprehend.
Lijuan’s wings had always been a glorious dove gray, beautiful and elegant. The color had suited her age and her power. Those wings spread out behind her, as elegant and as flawless as always, and for an instant, Andromeda thought Lijuan was back to who she’d been before the battle with Raphael.
Then she saw eyes swimming in blood . . . and she saw absence.
There was no evidence of legs under the gown of red silk that flowed from Lijuan’s painfully thin shoulders. No indication of bones pushing against the skirt, nothing but emptiness. Her left sleeve hung equally hollow at her side.
Andromeda’s stomach twisted.
If Lijuan’s legs and arm—and possibly other parts of her that Andromeda couldn’t see—hadn’t yet grown back, then Raphael had done a kind of damage no one could’ve predicted when it came to a confrontation between an archangel who hadn’t yet reached his second millennium, and a near-Ancient. It also meant Lijuan was far more dangerous than even Andromeda had anticipated.
A woman who believed herself a goddess would not appreciate the daily, and excruciatingly painful, reminder of weakness.
At least, but for her eyes and her thinness, the archangel’s face seemed as it had always been. The same blade-sharp cheekbones, the same pearlescent eyes, the same ice-white hair. Her skin appeared fragile but that—
Andromeda choked back a scream.
Lijuan’s face had turned into a skull, her eye sockets black hollows crawling with maggots that screamed. It lasted a split second before her face was normal again, but Andromeda would never forget the horror. Raphael’s right temple now bore a vibrant and ancient mark in a wild blue lit with white fire, while the newest reports from Titus’s territory said he was developing a stunning tattoo-like marking in deep gold across the mahogany of his broad chest, but none of the archangels had developed anything so macabre.
Of course, no one had seen Charisemnon in months. And Michaela . . . she’d been missing from public view as long, highly unusual for a woman known for her love of the camera. Andromeda could’ve asked Dahariel, who was reputed to be Michaela’s lover, but Andromeda and Dahariel’s relationship was a small, tightly defined thing. He taught her to fight and if she asked, he spoke to her about angelic politics and how to understand the complexity of it.
That was all. And it was all it would ever be.
Lijuan’s face changed again, and this time Andromeda couldn’t hold back her gasp. If the first change had been horrific, this was so far beyond beauty as to bring tears to the eye and make the heart hurt. The Archangel of China glowed from within, the light of her power a blinding white that made her luminous with a fierce, primal sense of life that reminded Andromeda of Naasir. Lijuan’s features seemed softer, her eyes sparkling, her eyelashes deeper and thicker.
It was as if Andromeda was seeing a glimpse of the angel Lijuan had once been.
So perhaps . . . perhaps the other was who she would eventually become.
* * *
Naasir fed rather than rested. He didn’t kill, didn’t harm. He just made his way to the outskirts of a small, isolated village and smiled at a maiden out in her fields; she smiled back at him, her lips parting. When he walked up to her, she didn’t run and he could hear her pulse thudding, her scent changing as her body readied itself for him.
“I am hungry.”
Shivering at his words, she angled her neck and he drank, one of his hands cradling her head as her breath came in harsh gasps and her eager body pumped more and more of her rich, hot blood into his mouth.
He was gentle, didn’t gorge or take more than she could afford to give, and when he was done, he made sure she’d bear no marks. He always treated his food well, aware that without food, he’d die. “Thank you.”
She gripped at his wrist, stars in her eyes. “Will you return?”
“No.” Lying to his food wasn’t good treatment, so he didn’t do it. “Don’t wait for me.”
Two fat tears rolled down her face. Leaving her watching wet-eyed after him, he disappeared back into the woods, rejuvenated from her gift of blood. He’d had countless similar conversations in his lifetime. When he was a child, he’d fed from Dmitri or Raphael or Keir. At the time, he hadn’t understood the depth of the honor he was being given. He’d known only that three men who were very definitely not food, were allowing him to feed from them—as a result, he’d been on his best behavior.
All three were also so powerful that he’d only needed a sip once every two days at most. It would’ve lasted even longer had he been able to feed more deeply, but he’d been small, only able to handle a tiny taste of such potent blood. Dmitri was the one he’d gone to most often. The older vampire had disciplined him more than anyone else, but Naasir liked that, liked knowing Dmitri cared enough to teach him things. When he’d needed to feed, he’d found Dmitri and Dmitri had held out his wrist.
Never once had he withheld it, not even when Naasir was in trouble.
The times when all three men were gone from the Refuge, he was meant to feed from Jessamy, but in his childish mind, he decided she was too weak to spare blood, and so forced himself to drink the bottled backup blood Dmitri stocked for him.
All that changed as he grew into a bigger boy, then almost a man. He’d discovered that girls liked him. And not just girls. Women, too. Vampires, angels, mortals when he snuck out into the world, women of all ages and races were drawn to him. Their scents melted when he neared.
Suddenly, he had more food than he could ever consume, even if he gorged.
Not that he hadn’t tried.
11
After first discovering his sudden irresistibility to women, Naasir had taken advantage. Then, thinking about all the lessons he’d had from Jessamy, and what he’d learned of honor from watching Dmitri, he’d gone to Dmitri and confessed that it was possible he’d inadvertently been compelling women to him. He was unique—even he didn’t know his own capabilities.
Dmitri had treated his worries seriously. Restricting him to bottled blood, Dmitri had gone out and spoken to over fifty women, all of whom had fed Naasir since he started finding his own food. At the end of his investigation, he’d come to Naasir with a lethally amused smile on his face.
“You aren’t compelling anyone, Naasir. The women are all of sound mind and body and recall their encounter with you with pleasure.” A raised eyebrow. “If they weren’t so terrified of me, I think I’d have been bombarded with invitations for you to return any time you feel hungry.”
Dmitri’s laugh had held a vein of sensual cruelty that drew countless women to the man who was Naasir’s father in all the ways it counted. “It appears you have the same effect as a jungle cat on certain women—they find you beautiful and want to pet you, tame you. Having a wild creature at their throats excites them.”
Since Naasir couldn’t be tamed, he wasn’t angered by the women
’s thoughts. Their response to him was occasionally annoying though—it made the hunt too easy. Not only that, it was clear that they reacted to him on a purely physical level, without ever knowing anything about who he was as a person.
Andromeda hadn’t liked him or melted for him. She’d fought with him.
He grinned.
He’d make her like him after he got her out of Lijuan’s citadel. And when he fed from her, he’d feed her in turn, so she’d know she wasn’t just food to him. He wondered what she liked to eat. He’d have to find out so he could court her properly and confirm she was his mate. He’d never courted anyone before, but he’d watched other people do it. He knew he was supposed to bring her gifts, do things that made her smile.
To accomplish that, he’d have to discover Andromeda’s smaller secrets. Having watched others win and lose at courting, he knew the best gifts matched the person. Maybe he’d find her a knife. Elena liked the knife Raphael had given her, and Andromeda was a warrior, too. But he’d have to find the right knife. Or perhaps he’d get her something else.
Dmitri had given Honor jewels he’d held safe for centuries, as if part of him had known he was waiting for his mate to claim them. Honor’s eyes went soft every time she touched her fingers to those jewels. Naasir hadn’t seen Andromeda wearing jewels but he hadn’t known her long. Maybe she liked sparkly things. Naasir liked them sometimes. He had a large cache he’d collected over the years. He hadn’t even stolen most of them—he’d stopped stealing things even from people he didn’t like four hundred years ago, after he grew up.
It had taken him longer than other immortals because he was different.
A growl sounded not far from him. He growled back and had a running companion for over an hour before the other runner rumbled a snarling good-bye and turned back into his territory. Continuing to run at the same relentless pace, Naasir looked up at the sky and tried to find Jason. He couldn’t. The spymaster was too good.
When he saw a small truck parked up ahead on the far edge of a field—as if the owner had walked into the village in the distance—he got into it. Hot-wiring the ignition, he drove the truck until he’d exhausted the fuel, ran again until he found another ride. He was moving as fast as he could without causing his body to shut down, but Lijuan’s territory was vast. It would take him at least another full day to reach Andromeda. Another twenty-four to thirty-six hours when she was alone with Zhou Lijuan.
Snarling, he reminded himself that the woman who smelled like his mate wasn’t prey. She was smart. She had secrets. She would survive.
* * *
Andromeda’s gasp was still hanging in the air when Lijuan smiled. “Ah, have you seen my faces?” She carried on speaking without waiting for an answer. “I am continuing to evolve. Soon, I will be more powerful than even the legends rumored to Sleep beneath the Refuge.”
Andromeda had no doubts Lijuan was changing, but she wasn’t sure she’d call it evolution. “Lady,” she said instead, her tone respectful. “According to reports filed after the battle, you perished in the fighting.” She needed to keep Lijuan talking. It would give her precious more time to think of a way out of this situation.
“I am not so easy to kill.” Lijuan’s voice echoed with screams again on the last two words, as if the souls she’d swallowed were fighting to get out. “I decided on a strategic retreat, decided to permit Raphael to live.”
Andromeda allowed Lijuan’s rewriting of history to stand. Discretion wasn’t only the better part of valor at this instant, it might be her only chance at survival. “Will you rejoin the Cadre?”
“The Cadre is a weak construct.” Lijuan flicked her hand as if brushing aside the idea. “It is time for a new world order.” Leaning back in the throne, she smiled, her face continuing to fade in and out of its different forms. It was eerie and oddly compelling at the same time. “I will create a better world.”
For the next hour, Andromeda listened to Lijuan speak of the world she planned to build. The archangel’s words were rambling and disjointed, and at times, they faded off completely, Lijuan’s body phasing in and out at the same time. However, Andromeda knew it would be a fatal mistake to underestimate her. Zhou Lijuan had at least nine thousand years of life and experience behind her, likely more.
“You listen well, scholar.”
Andromeda inclined her head. “It is my task to listen and to record.”
Lijuan smiled right as her face changed into the skull avatar. It turned the smile into a grotesque grimace filled with agonized howls that made Andromeda want to clap her palms over her ears. Controlling her breathing with grim effort, she gripped her hand tighter in front of her.
“Then hear this,” the archangel said in her sepulchral voice. “I have need to speak to Alexander.”
“The Ancient Sleeps.” Andromeda’s response would be expected, shouldn’t engender torture or violence. It remained a calculated risk nonetheless. “No one is meant to disturb an angel’s Sleep.” It was a taboo on par with that which forbade the abuse of children.
“I understand your qualms, but the world is changing and you must change with it.” Lijuan’s bloody eyes held her own. “Xi tells me you know where Alexander Sleeps.”
“No, Lady. I do not,” Andromeda said even as the crushing depth of Lijuan’s power threatened to suffocate her. “Alexander was too good a general for it to be otherwise. I know only of a possible location where he might have gone to ground.”
“Lying to me would not be a good idea.” A strange chill infiltrated the air at Lijuan’s words.
“I would not.” Andromeda’s breath felt like shards of ice in her lungs, stabbing and painful. “Alexander was an Ancient when he went to Sleep. He must have had the power to hide himself in the same way as Caliane.” Raphael’s mother had taken an entire city with her into Sleep, and when it rose after more than a thousand years, it was in a location far from its origins. “We cannot know whether he buried himself in the earth or under the seabed.”
Lijuan nodded at last, the inhuman chill receding. “You speak the truth. I must not forget that Alexander was always a great tactician. The tales his peers told of him as a young fighter . . .” A shake of her head, her tone almost affectionate as she added, “He would neither confirm nor deny most of them when I asked.”
Aware Lijuan’s mood could turn in a heartbeat, Andromeda used grim focus to keep her voice steady, though fear was a cold intruder in her gut. “May this scholar importune you for such stories as have been lost in time?”
Lijuan laughed and for an instant Andromeda could see the archangel as she’d once been. The one who was old and arrogant, but also wise and a cool head on the Cadre. The one who had found amusement in a wild boy who’d pretended to eat her cat.
“So young and curious.” Lijuan shook her head. “Yes, I will tell you stories, scholar, but first, you will give the possible location of Alexander’s place of Sleep to Xi.” It was an order. “He will mount the search.”
Spine stiff from the relentless discipline it took to stand firm against Lijuan’s power, Andromeda didn’t crumple. “Lady, as a fledgling historian, I took certain inviolable oaths. I cannot reveal Alexander’s possible location without compromising those oaths.”
“Your qualms do you credit, but as I have said, the world has changed.”
Though her flesh was icy from the renewed chill and her bones ached, Andromeda fought for courage, found it in the sudden memory of a sword dance with a silver-eyed vampire who wasn’t a vampire. Naasir thought she had a secret skin. Today, she’d wear the skin of a troubled young scholar and it would be her mask and her shield.
“May I have a night to consider my decision?” she asked. “It is a difficult one, for while my oaths are sacrosanct to me, I know Alexander’s strength is needed in this world.”
Lijuan’s face faded to almost nothing without warning, as did her body. “You are of the blood of an ally, so I will give you this chance.” An echoing, screaming, horrifying voice. �
��Go. Consider.” A wave of her hand as her body took form again.
Andromeda left before the archangel changed her mind. Her vampire escort was no longer outside the great doors, but Xi was on his way in. “General,” she said calmly, fighting the pounding urge to run until she had no more breath and the sinuous, screaming shadows of Lijuan’s throne room were far in the distance. “Am I forbidden from exploring the citadel? I’m curious to see Suyin’s creation.”
“Go where you will,” Xi told her. “If you need help to find your way, ask any of the people you meet.” A curt nod. “I must attend my archangel.”
Andromeda forced herself to walk away at a tempered pace, her heart beating so rapidly it was all she could hear. Xi’s acquiescence confirmed Andromeda’s suspicions that Lijuan didn’t intend for her to leave. Ever.
Even as the harsh truth settled in Andromeda’s stomach, she didn’t panic. That would get her nowhere. Once out of the central part of the citadel, she noted the number of guards, tried to pinpoint possible exits she could use, but had to admit the complex was too big and sprawling for her to believe she’d seen even a tenth of it in her explorations.
She tried to imagine what Naasir, renowned for his stealth, would do. He was impossibly beautiful when he moved, an apex predator who feared nothing and no one, and who had a dark, deadly grace.
You have secrets. You wear another skin, too.
Hand fisting against her abdomen, Andromeda fought back a sudden surge of raw emotion. It was silly, foolish. She’d known him for a flicker of time. It shouldn’t matter that she might never again see him, never again play games with him that threatened to unravel her hard-fought shell of civilized discipline.
But it did. It mattered.
Hours after that stabbing instant of loss, terror was a quiet tattoo in her head. Because this citadel was a fortress. She’d tired her feet to throbbing pain without discovering a single avenue of escape. Swallowing past the sour taste of fear and refusing to give up, she was padding down a quiet hallway when she heard it: a low, lyrical humming that caught at her heart, it was so evocative.