Archangel's Enigma (Guild Hunter)

by Nalini Singh

  His mouth watered.

  Putting his lips to her ear, he said, “You’re going to be my dessert after dinner tonight. I’m going to lick you up like honey, sink my fangs into the delicate, plump flesh between your thighs.”

  Her body jerked, her thighs clenching on his hand. She didn’t startle when his claws released, though he was holding flesh so soft and fragile. No surprise. His mate was as wild as him and she knew he would never hurt her.

  Trembling fingers wove into his hair but her teeth on his jaw were sharp. “Not if I get my mouth on you first.”

  He growled and tore off her jeans and ten minutes later, Andromeda lay sweat-drenched and naked on his chest, while his heart pounded, his entire self stretched out under the sunshine in sated bliss.

  When Andromeda finally pushed up on his chest to face him, she looked deliciously used, marked by his bite and by his kiss. And the affection in her eyes . . . He basked in it. “How long till we have to go in?” he asked.

  “Hours yet.” She pushed back his sweat-damp hair as his eyelids lowered. “Don’t go to sleep yet. I do have one question.”

  Lazy, he didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Hmm?”

  “The fact you’re a chimera doesn’t explain your vampirism.”

  Naasir yawned. “Osiris was afraid I wasn’t a true, immortal chimera, that I’d die before he’d unearthed his answers. He also wanted to keep me a child so I’d be easier to control.” Especially after Naasir’s last attack had left him with claw marks shredding his face.

  “Not that it would’ve saved him had I stayed a child. The day Raphael found me—after hearing about what Osiris was doing from a courier who’d seen more than he should—I’d jumped on Osiris from the ceiling, clawed out his eyes and made him slip on the stairs. His skull cracked hard enough against the stone to leave him unconscious.” At which point, Naasir had ripped out his throat and clawed open his chest cavity. “But that was Osiris’s rationalization for Making me.”

  Horror and rage had his mate going stiff above him. “Making a child is strictly forbidden. Children go mad if Made. They die.”

  “I came close to death, but perhaps because I was a chimera, I survived no more mad than when he began the process.”

  “You were never mad.”

  “I was feral.”

  “That’s not madness.” Kisses on his jaw.

  He turned into them, shamelessly asking for more. Andromeda gave him what he wanted, her lips as gentle as her love was fierce.

  Opening his eyes so he could see that fierce love in hers, he picked up her hand to nip and kiss at her fingertips. “Those who know I ate Osiris’s heart say that perhaps I’m so strong, so immortal, because I ate the heart of an Ancient while I wasn’t yet full-grown.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “No.” Naasir bared his teeth. “I like the idea of having consumed my enemy and made his power my own.”

  “Me, too,” said his smart, wild mate, her eyes glinting. “You grew despite the Making.”

  “Yes.” No one had expected that, those who knew of him readying themselves to deal with the distress and pain of a child who never grew, but whose understanding might get steadily older. “My growth patterns mimicked those of angelic children.”

  No one knew why, but the prevailing theory was that as a chimera, he was already naturally immortal and as such, his body had fought the toxins of the Making. However, because he’d been small and weak, he hadn’t totally won the fight and thus gained certain vampiric characteristics. “Like angelkind, I haven’t measurably aged since I became an adult. We can be together for eternity.”

  Andromeda’s face blanched, all happiness wiped away.

  Growling, he tumbled her over onto her back and braced himself above her. “Enough, mate,” he said in a tone that wasn’t wholly human. “What are you hiding from me?”

  Her throat moved, the words she spoke a harsh rasp. “Tomorrow, I must go to Charisemnon’s court.”

  Naasir curled his lip over his teeth. “You must do a tribute to your archangel? I will go with you to protect you.”

  “No.” Andromeda’s breathing turned labored, as if she was finding it hard to draw air into her lungs. “I’m bound to serve five hundred years in his court.”

  Naasir went motionless above her. “Why are you enslaved?”

  “A familial blood vow. It cannot be negotiated.”

  Naasir snarled at the finality in her tone. “No one likes Charisemnon,” he said. “Just ignore the obligation.” He nipped at her lower lip, then did it again because she’d been hiding things from him that hurt her.

  Nails digging into his shoulders, she narrowed her eyes. He ran a clawed hand over her cheek in warning. She didn’t look scared at all. “I like your nails in me,” he said with a grin. “Dig harder.”

  A distinct grr sound from his mate. “I can’t just not turn up,” she snapped. “You know what archangels are like—they might fight amongst themselves, but they won’t support rebellion within each other’s families.”

  “Things have changed.” Naasir braced himself on his forearms. “Raphael hates Charisemnon for causing the Falling. He’ll accept you into his protection.” Because she was Naasir’s, and Raphael backed his Seven.

  Andromeda shook her head. “It may cost him the allegiance of those like Astaad who are more traditional.”

  Naasir growled, but he didn’t argue—they both knew she was right. Astaad considered Charisemnon an enemy, but if Raphael broke such a deep angelic prohibition, it could fracture their alliance. And any infighting or serious disagreement between the allies would give Lijuan a weakness to exploit. But— “Jason took Mahiya away from Neha.”

  “Our situations are very different below the surface.” Andromeda had hoped when she’d heard about the union, dug up everything she could about the princess. “The service requirement is specific to my grandfather’s court.”

  “I hate vows,” Naasir muttered. “Now that we’re mated, you can’t make any more.”

  “How about if I vow to love you forever?” A soft question.

  “That one is allowed.” He nipped at her nose. “I love you, too, even if you keep taking stupid vows I have to break.”

  She bared her teeth at him. “I didn’t choose this one.” Anger made her voice rough. “I don’t want to go, but if I don’t, Charisemnon will declare me an outcast with a price on my head. Even if Raphael doesn’t care about the blood vow, someone will—or they’ll just want the bounty. I’ll be hunted the rest of my life.” And Naasir would be hunted with her. “That’s no kind of life.”

  “What about your father?”

  “Cato would never go against his archangel.”

  Naasir’s silver eyes locked with her own. “You know Cato isn’t your father in blood. Why are you pretending otherwise? Even had Dahariel not given you an uncommon amount of attention, your wings bear markings a step removed from his.”

  Andromeda looked away, but Naasir gripped her jaw, made her meet his gaze again. Surrendering, she admitted the truth. “I was so happy when I realized,” she confessed. “I thought he was brave and strong and intelligent—and he is, but he’s also capable of gross cruelty.”

  She took a ragged breath. “Ten years before I left for the Refuge, I walked into a room in my parents’ home and saw him torturing a mortal boy who was barely of age.” It had shattered Andromeda, left her heart in pieces on the floor, the hope inside her snuffed out. “He meant for me to know,” she whispered. “He could see the stars in my eyes and he wanted to erase them, to show me his true colors.” To teach her that though he wasn’t lost in a compulsive search for sensation like her parents, he was as pitilessly jaded.

  Andromeda had begged him to let the mortal go. The man who was her father in blood had simply raised an eyebrow and flicked the whip once more on the boy’s back, making him whimper as blood trickled down his ravaged skin.

  A soft heart can be a fatal weakness in the immortal world, a lure
for the predators. If you want to survive, you’d do well to learn from my example.

  Andromeda had thrown up instead.

  “Dahariel is a bastard,” Naasir agreed. “But he is also Astaad’s second and can request sanctuary for you. No one will interfere as you are his child.”

  Andromeda knew he was right; the archangels and old angels would deem it a private family matter since Dahariel—and thus Astaad—had as much right to her as Charisemnon. “I asked him,” she admitted in a small voice. “Fifty years ago.” She’d been desperate enough to chance the humiliation, knowing that though Dahariel was cruel, Astaad’s court was nothing like Charisemnon’s.

  Naasir’s expression hardened. “He said no to his own cub? Angels love their children.”

  “I think he does love me in his own twisted way.” That was what made his abandonment hurt all the more. “He told me he’d given me what he was capable of giving and that he’d continue to train me, but in every other way, I was on my own.”

  “A lot has changed in fifty years.”

  “Yet he’s never made the offer, though I have seen him many times for our combat sessions.” She stroked back Naasir’s hair. “I don’t think the bond ever formed deep enough for him to claim me as his own—he didn’t realize I was his until almost fifty years after my birth, when my wings settled into their final adult pattern. By then . . . it was too late for him to see me as a babe.” To feel the protective instincts of a parent.

  “So you want me to wait five hundred years?”

  Yes. “I can’t demand that,” she said aloud even as her soul tore in two.

  He growled at her, so loud and angry that she startled. “Are you going to rut with others in Charisemnon’s court?”

  “No!” She pushed at his shoulders but he refused to move. “Why would you say such a horrible thing?”

  “Why would you say I shouldn’t wait for you?” It was a snarl. “If you’re mine, you’re mine. And I’m yours. Today, tomorrow, always.”

  Andromeda began to cry. Hard, gulping sobs that held all her pain, all her love, all her dreams. Rolling over onto his back, Naasir crushed her close and made purring sounds in his chest as he stroked her hair and her back. “I’m sorry I growled at you,” he said, nuzzling at her. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “I know,” she got out through her tears.

  Sniffing away the last of the tears several minutes later, she just lay against him. “I wasn’t crying because of that. I was crying because you’re wonderful and I can’t bear to think of leaving you.”

  “There must be a way.”

  “It’s a blood vow.”

  “I’m a chimera who was made of a small, fierce boy and an equally small, equally fierce cat. I can think of a way out.” He wasn’t going to let his mate end up in the court of the Archangel of Plague and Disease.

  49

  A day later, however, he had to watch her leave for that very court.

  “Five hundred years,” she said, one hand on his chest, over the heart that beat for her. “Will you truly wait?”

  “If I have to,” he said, taking her mouth in a ravenous kiss. “But I won’t. Watch for me. I’ll be coming to get you.” He fisted both hands in her hair. “Stay alive.” He knew the ugly rules of Charisemnon’s court, knew the horrors she’d face.

  “I will,” she promised, but in her eyes, he saw the knowledge that it might not be enough.

  Death had many forms. Not all were of the body.

  50

  A week after that parting, Andromeda couldn’t help looking out through the balcony doors of her bedroom and out over the landscape. She knew it was impossible for her wild chimera to find an answer to a blood vow owed an archangel, but she waited nonetheless. He’d sneak in to see her as soon as he could, that she knew beyond all doubt, though they’d had zero communication since they parted.

  Andromeda didn’t dare carry a phone. It could be taken from her, and once taken, Charisemnon would know Naasir was her heart, not a simple sexual dalliance. Her grandfather would find a way to use that, to twist the pure into the ugly.

  Five hundred years.

  She would fight to survive . . . but she might not come out the same on the other side.

  Today, her grandfather had summoned her for a special task. She’d seen the vampire staked out in the courtyard, seen the implements of torture, knew she would not pick up those implements. So they would be turned against her.

  Because she was a princess of the court, her naked body would be staked out in a dungeon, not in public. And her torture wouldn’t be at inexpert hands, but at the hands of Charisemnon’s Master Torturer. The tall, thin angel’s aim would be to break her piece by piece. Until she became like Cato, like Lailah.

  Daughter and fosterling raised side by side.

  Empty shells repainted in Charisemnon’s image.

  For the first time, she understood that perhaps her parents were together because no one else could understand what they’d survived. A broken kind of love, but love nonetheless.

  Gut churning and skin going hot, then cold, she put on her uniform: dark brown pants and a lighter brown tunic with the pattern of a tree printed in black down the front left side—the same kind of tree under which she’d loved with Naasir. The memory a secret held inside her, she pulled her hair back into a tight braid and strapped on her sword.

  No more time.

  Naasir. Fight for Naasir. Don’t allow them to steal him from you.

  She stepped out, striding down the hallways into Charisemnon’s inner court. The smell of alcohol, as well as of strong narcotic substances that had an effect on immortal physiology, lingered in the air, a number of courtiers still slumped over the tables where they’d been last night.

  Wings trailed limply on the sticky floor, and a glutted vampire slept on a chaise longue with his arm possessively around a slender mortal boy who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Hearing a grunt, she looked up and saw one of her grandfather’s angelic generals copulating with a female vampire who already bore bruises from his meaty grip, but who seemed to be enjoying being fucked on a dining table.

  Carrying on through the court without stopping, skirting sleeping and fallen bodies and ignoring slurred propositions, she walked to the great doors beyond. Carved with exquisite care and inlaid with gold and precious stones, the doors were as striking as her grandfather’s heart was rotten. The guards—sharp eyed and alert—opened them for her at once, and she continued on to the inner sanctum.

  She swallowed her revulsion before pushing through the unguarded door at the end, having to fight her way through hanging silk curtains to the bedroom. Charisemnon lay in bed, his previously healthy and muscled body shriveled and marked with scars. The disease he’d spread had turned on him like a vicious dog. The fact he was regaining his health, regardless, was no surprise.

  He was, after all, an archangel.

  The scars would eventually fade. The rumpled mahogany silk of his thinned-out hair would thicken, his muscle mass return. He’d be a beautiful man on the outside again, a dark-haired archangel with skin of deep gold and eyes the same shade but for slivers of brown within, his flawlessly shaped lips lush with sensual promise.

  Mortal and immortal alike did not always wear their ugliness on their skin.

  Keeping her eyes scrupulously off the barely budded girls who lay naked around Charisemnon, Andromeda looked straight into her grandfather’s face. “Sire,” she said, the address sticking in her throat.

  “Ah, my dear Andromeda,” Charisemnon replied in a voice that had gone scratchy after his illness. “My steward tells me you are settling in.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Charisemnon didn’t immediately respond, distracted by a girl who’d awakened. Those girls, Charisemnon’s young concubines, were so brainwashed that they would stab each other in the back to stay in his good graces.

  When they became too old for his tastes, the girls became courtiers and ladies’ maids who groomed oth
er girls to take their place. It sickened Andromeda, but she could see no way to stop it. She’d tried speaking to the newer crop of girls, offered to find them a way out, but they’d laughed and told her they felt lucky to be in the court.

  “If I serve the sire,” one pretty child had said, “my value will increase when it comes time for marriage. My husband will be honored to marry me.”

  The sad thing was that she was right: Charisemnon had conditioned his people to accept his perversions as honor. All Andromeda could do was keep watch for any girl who didn’t appear to be so willing. If and when that happened, she’d find a way to help her.

  “I have a task for you, granddaughter,” Charisemnon said, one hand on the newly blossoming breast of the child in bed with him.

  Nausea twisted her gut. “Sire.” All she had to do was stay alive. If she was alive, there was hope. Naasir was fighting for her. She’d fight for him. Until her last breath, she’d fight and she’d hold on to her sanity and her soul.

  “Hmm.” Charisemnon’s smile was twisted. “I had intended for you to prove your bloodline to the court this morning, for none of my line can be seen as weak.”

  “You have witnessed my skill with the sword.”

  Charisemnon waved that away. “You are known as a scholar. A princess of the court needs be more ruthless.”

  Sweat broke out along Andromeda’s spine. “Yes, sire.”

  “As I say, that was my plan, but it’ll have to wait for your return.”

  Andromeda didn’t feel any relief at the reprieve, aware worse could be waiting. “My return?”

  “It appears Alexander wishes to speak to you.”

  Too stunned and off-balance to hide it, she just stared at her grandfather.

  Charisemnon’s smile deepened, as if he enjoyed her shock. “He feels you deserve a reward for your part in saving him.”

  Chest tight and skin cold, Andromeda stepped carefully. “My actions did not have a deleterious effect on your relationship with the Archangel Lijuan?” She’d been waiting for that particular ax to fall since her return.