by Nalini Singh
“You speak too soon, Elijah,” Favashi said in her soft, steely tone. “Any one of us could be taking advantage of Lijuan’s notoriety to make a power play.” She locked gazes with Michaela, who only smiled coldly. “Any one of us.”
They spoke for another ten minutes without coming to a consensus on the identity of the perpetrator. They did however make the decision to warn seven other angels who were the most powerful in the world once you took the Cadre out of the equation. Illium wasn’t on that list . . . but he should’ve been. Despite Neha’s acerbic comment, the others hadn’t yet realized the intensity of the spike in his power levels.
Switching off the connection after spending an extra few minutes in conversation with his mother, Raphael turned to Elena. She walked over to join him, the near-white of her hair pulled back into a ponytail and a blade moving through her fingers as she stared at the image he’d frozen on the screens—that of the spark-filled black ash in Titus’s hand.
“Favashi is right,” she said, slipping away the blade. “It could’ve been any of you, though personally I’d eliminate you from the suspect list.” Rising on tiptoe, she claimed a kiss that poured mortal warmth through him, melting the ice that had formed over the course of the meeting. “I’d also eliminate Caliane because your mom just wants to be left alone with her people.”
Raphael cupped her jaw, running his thumb over her cheekbone. “Elijah and I have been in nearly daily contact of late.” The two of them had decided to work together to defend this region against any further attacks. “Quite aside from the fact that my instincts say he is too honorable for such a cowardly act, I know he never left his territory.”
Stepping closer, Elena put one hand on his chest. “I don’t see Astaad and Neha doing this either.”
“Astaad prefers to stay out of conflict when he can, so I agree.” The Archangel of the Pacific Isles had only joined the coalition against Lijuan when the Archangel of China dared fly her reborn over his territory. “As for Neha . . . yes, she is a queen. She wouldn’t consider it honorable to ambush a weaker, younger angel in his home.”
“Michaela is looking surprisingly normal.” Elena’s eyes narrowed. “I expected her to have grown horns or something, the way she’s kept her head down.” She frowned. “Only . . .” Breaking contact, she turned to the main screen. “Does this thing record?”
“Of course.” He showed her how to bring up the recording. “You want Michaela?”
“Yes.” She watched the loop two times. “Shit.” It came out almost soundless. “She’s got the same fragile thing going on that Beth had when she was pregnant.”
Since Elena’s sister was terrified of him, Raphael had spent little time with her, but he had seen other pregnant mortals and immortals in his lifetime. And now that Elena had pointed it out, he noted the new delicacy of Michaela’s skin—and the fact that though she was a woman who used her body as a weapon, she’d shown none of it today, her image cut off below the shoulders.
“Michaela may actually be with child,” he said slowly.
“Holy hell.” Elena whistled. “Do you think she was just laying the groundwork when she lied to us? So no one would believe it when it happened?”
Raphael shook his head. “Immortal pregnancies are too rare to be predicted with any accuracy. There is a second possibility.” He thought of how he’d found a wounded Michaela with a glowing red fireball in the bloody cavity where her heart should’ve been. “Whatever it is that Uram did to her, it may be starting to show on the surface.”
“Can we confirm either way?” Elena shook her head almost before the words were out. “If she’s hiding because she’s vulnerable, let’s leave her be.” His consort’s throat moved in a convulsive movement. “I’ll never forget how she looked that night in the Refuge when Sam was taken. I’ve always wondered if it was losing a child that made her so mercenary and heartless.”
Raphael’s heart wasn’t as soft as his consort’s, and he didn’t think motherhood had or would change Michaela, but if she was in fact with child, he hoped the infant would escape being warped by Uram’s poison. “If she is pregnant, it may be another Cascade event,” he said, his mind on Illium’s struggle to hold the deadly levels of power building up in his body.
Elena blew out a breath and leaned against him. “Have you heard from Jason or Naasir?”
Spreading his wing to slide over hers, Raphael nodded. “Jason is safely out of Lijuan’s territory and is carrying a wounded hostage.” A woman who’d been thought long dead. “No word from Naasir and the scholar.”
Elena’s hand curled around his. “It’s Naasir. He can get out of anything.” Fierce belief, but below it was a dark worry.
Thinking of the black ash in Titus’s hand, Raphael knew she was right to worry. Naasir was strong and fast and highly intelligent, but he was currently trapped in the heart of enemy territory, and that enemy did not fight according to any known rules of war.
18
Naasir followed the faint smell of mortal food to a tiny settlement on a riverbank. Only three houses, all spaced generously apart, two with small fishing boats moored to rickety docks in front of the houses.
The farthest house had smoke coming out of the chimney and a neatly tended garden. That house was the source of the cooking and food smells. An old man and woman sat eating from small bowls on the porch of the house next to it. Both were wrinkled like walnuts and appeared as if they’d laughed for a lifetime.
Naasir smiled at seeing them. He would like to laugh a lifetime with his mate.
Turning his attention to the third house, he drew in a breath, caught no fresh scents.
Prowling around the backs of the houses, out of sight of the mortals, he listened at the door of the third house and heard only silence. No breathing within, no heartbeats. When he turned the handle, it opened without resistance. Walking in, he saw it was empty but clean. There was a bed and he found sheets in one cupboard, plates, cups, and utensils in another, but saw no signs of recent habitation. No food anywhere, no towels hung out, the fireplace neatly swept out and cold to the touch.
It was probably a hunting or fishing cottage, he thought, catching faint traces of old animal and fish blood on a table on the back porch when he ventured out again. The other two with their thriving gardens looked like permanent homes, but this one had an empty yard overgrown with grasses and weeds. A little more investigation and he found a small boat garaged neatly in a tin shed, as if its owner had put it away for the season.
Deciding it would be a safe enough hiding place since he’d hear anyone who attempted to come in, he prowled away as soundlessly as he’d arrived and made his way back to Andromeda. He couldn’t see her at first, but he could scent her. Grinning because she was smart, he looked up and there she was, sitting on a branch. “I’ve found us a hide,” he said.
She jumped off, using her wings to balance herself. “I might need some food,” she said apologetically. “I’m burning more energy than I usually do, and I’m too young to go without food for long.”
He’d already worked that out. If she didn’t feed, she’d start to weaken, her body cannibalizing itself from the inside out. “I have a plan.” He waved at her to follow him. “Be a shadow.”
She was too noisy to be a shadow but it didn’t matter. By the time they arrived, the two fishing boats were gone and all was quiet. He stealthily checked the houses to ensure no one had stayed behind—or had entered the empty house since his departure.
Only once he was certain all was clear did he take Andromeda to the house. “Stay here,” he said, palming a small knife he’d earlier seen on the kitchen table. “I’ll get food.”
She shook her head. “We can’t steal from these people—they look as if they have little enough as it is.”
“I won’t. Trust me.”
A small nod. “I can see a fishing pole there. I might try with that while you’re gone.”
“No. You’ll be too visible.”
The skin aro
und her mouth tightened, but she didn’t argue. “Stay safe. I’ll watch out for you.”
Leaving her after doing another circuit to ensure no one else was around, he took off at high speed. It didn’t take him long to get what he needed. It was only when he was at the door she’d opened that he realized he’d brought her meat. He’d been proud of being able to feed her, had forgotten he wasn’t supposed to offer a woman meat.
Her eyes went to the rabbit he’d taken in the hunt. He’d been quick, merciful. He was always fast and he never hurt his prey. They fed him and for that, he was grateful. He was a predator. He had to eat. That was the natural order of the world. And he was careful never to take things of which there were a small number in the world. He didn’t want them to disappear.
Today, however, he realized he should’ve tried fishing even if it was a far less efficient method of finding food—if fish could even be called food. Before he could speak and try to stop Andromeda from screaming, she said, “Oh, you caught something.” A frown. “Do you think it’s safe to light the fire in here? There doesn’t seem to be any electricity.”
Walking inside after her, he put his catch on the kitchen table. “There’s no reason anyone should wonder about this cabin from the air,” he said, treading carefully because he wasn’t sure if Andromeda really wasn’t angry he’d brought her meat. “The neighbors who know it’s empty are gone.”
“Great. I unearthed the firestarting tools.” She laid the fire using the sticks and pieces of wood in a basket next to it, then started it with competent hands.
Since he’d already cleaned and prepared the results of his hunt before bringing it to her, all they had to do was put the meat to roast on the spit already set up in the fireplace. Naasir sighed at seeing perfectly good meat get seared, but he didn’t say anything. He knew Andromeda wouldn’t want to eat raw meat.
After placing their clothes near the fireplace so they’d dry, she sat and turned the spit as needed. “You were really quick.”
“I didn’t have to go far.” He’d scented the existence of prey on his first sortie. “I took the old one in the group, the one whose time had come.” Never did he take the young ones, for that would destroy the ecosystem of which he was a part.
“My thanks to the hunter, and my thanks to the creature that gave up its life so we can live.”
Naasir looked at her profile. “You are a scholar.”
Somehow, she understood what he was asking. “I didn’t grow up a scholar. My parents are based in an untamed part of Charisemnon’s territory.” When Naasir bared his teeth at the sound of her grandfather’s name, she nodded, her next words blunt. “Yes, he is a disgusting excuse for an archangel.”
The ugly emotion in Andromeda’s tone had him growling. “Did he touch you when you were a cub?” Naasir knew of Charisemnon’s appetites, that he took those not yet full-grown to his bed.
Andromeda shuddered. “No . . . but he looked at me in a way that made it feel as if I had spiders crawling over my skin.” She shook herself, clearly throwing off the memory of the sensation. “My parents control a remote sector for him and it’s a sprawling place full of creatures wild and free.”
Her tone changed, her love for her distant homeland a second heartbeat. “I saw nature at its fiercest and most ruthless growing up. There are predators and there are prey. The lion runs the antelope to ground, and the cheetah hunts the gazelle. It is the natural order of things. It’s only those who hunt without need of food that upset that order.”
Feeling more comfortable as his pants started to steam from the heat, drying out fully at last, and his bare chest heated from the fire, Naasir stretched out his legs. “I’m glad you’re not a vegetarian.” He knew scholars who only ate leafy things, found them to be fascinating creatures. Who could live on only leafy things?
A soft laugh from the woman beside him, the one who smelled more delicious than the meat and who had beautifully uncontrollable hair he wanted to rub his face against. “Do you need blood?”
He thought about it. He’d eat some of the meat even if it was cooked, and he’d fed well during the journey to Lijuan’s stronghold. “No. Not yet.” Looking at her, he allowed himself to turn his eyes to her pulse.
It jumped.
Forcing himself to look away when his cock started to swell and harden, he stared into the flames. “Not from you,” he said, the words coming out rough; he wanted to pin her down and sink his fangs into her at the same time as his cock. “You need your strength. I’ll find someone else.”
She didn’t say anything, but there was a new stiffness to her as they finished watching the meat cook. When it was done, they ate in silence. He gave her the best pieces but she still didn’t talk to him as she had before. Unable to figure out what he’d done wrong, he decided to talk about something else.
“Did you take your vow because your parents can’t control their need to rut?”
Her head jerked up. Going so pale that her freckles stood out stark against her skin, she finished the food on her plate and got up to wash it clean. Then she went to the bed she’d made up using sheets from the cupboard, and lay down.
Not wanting to hurt her by asking more questions, he finished his own food in silence before going to stand watch at the window so she could sleep in safety.
“It’s part of it.” A soft confession from the bed almost ten minutes later. “But it’s not all of it.”
He waited; he could be patient when it was needed. Sometimes, he didn’t move for hours when hunting cunning prey.
Sitting up with her arms wrapped around raised knees, Andromeda met his eyes. “It’s me,” she said, her tone husky and one hand tight around the wrist of the other. “I have the same carnal drives as my mother.”
“You want to rut with many people?” He tried not to growl those words, though they made him want to growl—he was going to keep his mate for himself. He’d satisfy her as many times as she wanted, but no one else would be touching her.
Andromeda swallowed. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’ll become if I give in to the need inside me.”
Naasir struggled to understand. “Have you never lain with anyone?”
“No,” Andromeda admitted, conscious he wouldn’t understand her choice. He was a vibrant, rawly sexual creature. Being with him had made her own consciously dormant sexual instincts fight to awaken; she wanted to rub up against him, wanted to taste him and be tasted by him.
Frown turning into a scowl, Naasir came over to crouch down in front of her. She’d shifted position to sit with her legs over the edge of the bed, suddenly realized he’d be able to see straight between her thighs if she wasn’t careful. Her panties were still near the fireplace, the thin fabric probably dry by now.
“Does it not hurt to be alone?” he asked her, his hair sliding to the side as he cocked his head in that way he had of doing. “I like being petted. Don’t you need petting?”
His honesty demanded her own. “I’ve made myself not need it.” It had been brutal when her natural inclination was to wallow in sensation. “It’s why I first picked up the sword. To put my sexual energy into controlled violence.” Rather than the sadistic kind practiced by her parents.
“Fighting is like rutting.” Naasir’s eyes gleamed. “Not the same, but it gets the blood pumping and it makes me ready.”
When her eyes dropped instinctively, she had to force them back up. She had no business checking whether or not he was aroused. “Sexual pleasure is like a drug,” she said to Naasir. “You become addicted to it until it takes over your life, until pleasure alone isn’t enough and the search for novelty turns brutal. At least that’s how it is with my family.”
“Your parents rule a sector,” Naasir pointed out. “They do other things.”
“It’s a far-off and not very important sector.” Charisemnon might have deviant appetites, but he was still an archangel and no fool. He knew his daughter and her husband weren’t capable of running a large sector, so had stuck
them in a small, unimportant corner politically speaking.
“They also have two stewards who can run the territory without instruction, they’ve been doing it for so long.” The twins had been there since long before either Andromeda’s mother or father had even been born. “My parents are powerful enough to be dangerous when called upon to defend the territory, but otherwise . . .”
She gripped one of her hands with the other, squeezing tight to restrain the urge to reach out and play with the silken temptation of Naasir’s hair. “They’ve been dissolute and jaded and sexually violent since they were young.” She’d read stories of her parents’ debauchery, their every move chronicled because of her mother’s bloodline.
“The fact they can’t control their urges makes them weak.” Naasir’s gaze was a lightning strike, as if he’d shatter light right through her, exposing all her secrets. “A woman who has fought her natural sensual instincts for hundreds of years is not weak.”
Andromeda sucked in a breath, wanting to grab at his words and hoard them close. “It requires constant control.”
A shrug. “I have to exercise the same not to act too inhuman.”
“Don’t,” she found herself saying. “Don’t act with me.”
Snapping his teeth at her, he grinned at her little jump. “I thought you wanted me to act civilized.”
“Argh! I said that once while I was mad.” She pushed at the warm, bare skin of his shoulders when he laughed, wicked amusement in his eyes. “You make me want to act totally uncivilized.”
His eyes lit up. “Good.” Rising to his feet, he said, “I must keep watch. Rest and think about choices.”
She scowled at his back as he retook his position by the window. “Don’t try to give me orders when we’re not creeping about.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he raised an eyebrow. “Sleep or you’ll fall down when you lumber about. You haven’t mastered creeping yet.”