Archangel's Enigma

15

Naasir drew deep on the primal heart of his nature. His claws released and his canines elongated, his vision a knife blade through the dark and his sense of smell acute. All trappings of civilization gone, he wanted to turn and nuzzle at the neck of the woman who smelled like his mate, but that had to wait.

First, he had to kill the foul creatures howling toward them.

They were shambling and laughingly slow in comparison to his speed, but their infectiousness made them a threat against which he couldn’t risk using his teeth. From all evidence to date, it appeared the reborn needed to kill their victim for that victim to become reborn, but Naasir wasn’t going to take the risk that the creatures hadn’t mutated and become strong enough to infect living flesh.

His teeth might be out, but he utilized his claws like blades, slicing and ripping and tearing. At his back, he could feel Andromeda moving with a fighter’s grace, her sword slicing through the air on a deadly whistle of sound.

Heads rolled to the leaf-strewn earth around him.

“Naasir?”

He growled in answer at the concern in her tone. He couldn’t speak quickly when living in this skin that was another aspect of his nature, but he was pleased she was thinking about him.

A clean slice of sound as her sword moved again, blood spraying the air.

He clenched his teeth against the putrid smell and reached out to rip a reborn’s head from its shoulders. That emptied more blood around them, splattering him, but it was worth it to get rid of the tainted creatures. Kicking out with clawed feet, he disemboweled one while decapitating another. He didn’t like to cause the reborn unnecessary pain—Lijuan had likely used innocent villagers as her fodder—but he couldn’t rip off two heads at once.

Behind him, he could hear Andromeda breathing hard. She leaned against him. “Are they all dead?”

He took care of the one he’d disemboweled and thought hard about the words he’d been taught as a child after Raphael carried him to the Refuge. “Yes.” It came out a growl so deep, he knew he didn’t sound human.

Shifting to face Andromeda, he gripped her jaw with a clawed and bloody hand. He turned her head—gently—to one side then the other before checking her neck and body. Her wings were bloodied, but it was from spray. “You’re not hurt,” he got out just as part of him realized he’d probably scared her.

Women didn’t like his claws, didn’t like the way his eyes glowed after a hunt.

Andromeda pushed off his hand and grabbed his jaw. He was so surprised he let her pull him forward and turn his face this way and that. Releasing him, she walked around to his back and pushed up his T-shirt, then came around to do the same to the blood-soaked front.

“You’re not hurt either.” She looked down at his feet. “Did you get cut or bitten there?”

He snorted at the ridiculousness of her question. Dropping her hand from his T-shirt, she scowled at him. “Are those things all dead or do you think we’ll run into more?”

Thinking about it, about words and how they worked, he said, “They would’ve come toward the scent of blood.”

“Good.” She knelt down to look at Suyin. “Can you carry her the whole way?”

“Yes.” It would slow them down, but he didn’t leave helpless people behind to be eaten by monsters or imprisoned by Lijuan.

Andromeda rose to her feet as Naasir bent to pick Suyin up with an effortlessness that betrayed his strength. He was splattered with blood, his silver hair streaked with it. She wanted to scrub it all away; Naasir was as real and honest as the reborn were unnatural abominations.

At least the rain washed off the worst of it as they walked.

“Why did you decide to study the Sleeping archangels?” Naasir asked some time later.

She noted that his voice was less growly now—she liked it either way. The only voice she didn’t like was the cold, cultured tone he’d used when she’d first made him angry. “I’m just fascinated by the idea of all these powerful beings resting in hidden places on and in the earth.”

“How many?”

“No one knows. The Ancestors are stories we tell children, but there are more credible legends of Ancients who’ve Slept so long that they, too, have become myth.” She bit her lip and admitted her secret wish. “Jessamy says Alexander could sometimes be coaxed to speak of times of myth. They are his memories. With him and Caliane both in the world, we could find out so much.”

“Caliane speaks to you?”

“No—to Jessamy. Even then it’s not often, but Jessamy visited her soon after you left Amanat; she said Caliane was most gracious and generous.” Andromeda knew the Historian, her wing twisted and unable to take her aloft, remained highly conscious of not being glimpsed by ordinary mortals, for angelkind could not be seen to be weak in such a way, but that wasn’t an issue in Amanat.

When Jessamy wanted to view things in more populated environs, she skimmed the landscape in a light plane or in a helicopter modified to fit angelic wings while hiding the occupants from view. Usually the occupant was a single slender angel. Jessamy had quietly learned to operate both those vehicles.

Andromeda saw in Jessamy’s determination a woman who was her hero. The other angel had survived thousands of years before inventors gave her a way to take to the skies on her own. Andromeda could survive five hundred years in a court devoid of hope.

“According to Caliane,” she said, setting aside the inevitable for this night, “counting Alexander, there are seven archangels who Sleep.”

“What if they all wake up at once?”

“It would be catastrophic.” Archangels couldn’t be in close proximity for long periods without a dangerous rise in their aggression. Ten was the perfect number spread out across the world. One or two more could be accommodated, but after that . . . “We’d end up with back-to-back wars until the balance was restored.”

“Natural law,” Naasir said bluntly. “Nature will always seek to maintain balance.”

“Yes.” She checked on Suyin again, shook her head when Naasir looked at her. “No improvement.”

Face set in harsh lines, Naasir kept on walking.

“I don’t only study Sleeping archangels,” Andromeda said in an effort to keep their minds off the bleak situation. “If you promise not to laugh, I’ll tell you about my other studies.”

Open curiosity. “Tell me.”

“Promise you won’t laugh first.”

Lips curving, Naasir snapped his teeth playfully at her. “How can you ask me to make the promise after that?”

She glared because he’d made her jump again, but told him. “I study creatures,” she said, waiting for the condescending amusement she saw so often on the faces of her colleagues. “Like shape-shifters,” she continued when he just listened, “mermen and mermaids, griffins, chimera, walkers . . . things like that.”

“Why study the impossible?”

“Because the stories must’ve begun somewhere. And . . . I like to think there remain mysteries in the world.”

“I think mermen and mermaids make sense.”

“You do?” She narrowed her eyes but he didn’t look like he was making fun of her. “Why?”

“The world is covered in water. Why shouldn’t a species have evolved to live in that water?” A silver-eyed glance. “You should ask the Primary. Maybe the Legion are the truth behind the legend. They did live an eon in the deep.”

The hairs rose on her arms. “I’ve been desperate to speak to them,” she whispered, her historian’s heart overflowing. “I know Jessamy’s had some contact with the Primary, but I didn’t want to ask for his time for my little subspecialty.”

“I’ll introduce you when you’re ready,” Naasir said. “I’ll even sneak you into their new green home.”

Andromeda almost danced on the spot, forgetting for a moment that she wouldn’t have the freedom to do such things soon. “What about griffins?”

He took time to think before speaking. “I think the stories must come from large birds of prey in primordial times.”

“That’s my theory, too.” Childishly happy to discover that his mind was so open, she said, “Skinwalkers?”

“No. But, I knew a medicine man once who walked with a spirit guide. He understood the land and all its creatures better than anyone I’ve ever since met.” His tone held unvarnished respect. “Mortals die too quickly. The medicine man was wiser than many an immortal, but he was gone almost before I knew him.”

“You miss him,” Andromeda said softly.

“He was my friend.”

Her throat grew thick. “Will you tell me about him?”

“Yes, later.” A curl of his lip over his fangs. “My friend was a man who lived on the plains under an open sky. He does not belong in this forest tainted with reborn. What other creatures are on your list?”

“Chupacabra.”

“I hope it exists. It has the best name.”

Andromeda giggled. “Chimera?”

“A snake-tailed animal with a lion’s body and a goat’s head attached to its spine?” He snorted. “His goat head would unbalance him before he ever took a step, and he’d immediately get eaten by something bigger. And wouldn’t the lion head constantly be trying to eat the goat head?”

Andromeda had to agree, fascinating though such a creature might’ve been. “I never could figure out how that would work.” She tapped her chin. “But what a strange thing for people to imagine. Just like the karakasa-obake.”

“I don’t know that one.”

So, as the rain tapered off into a fine mist, she told him about the talking umbrella with one eye and one leg, and they kept on walking.

Naasir was having fun talking with Andromeda, playing with her—though she didn’t know it yet—when he smelled black lightning. A shadow passed overhead and then a piece of the night was separating out to land in front of them. Taking in their bloodied state, Jason said, “You eradicated the remnants of the nest.”

“Yes.”

Jason walked forward. “Suyin.”

Naasir was unsurprised the spymaster knew the identity of the woman in his hold; as far as Naasir could work out, Jason knew everything. “She needs to go to Keir. Xi ordered one of her wings be excised, the other I had to break.”

Holding out his arms, Jason said, “I’ll take her. With her wing strapped down, she’s easy enough cargo—I’ll go to Amanat and ask Keir to travel there.” He looked to Andromeda. “You’ll have to stay grounded. You can’t fly high enough to avoid the squadrons, but Naasir can get you out.”

“Understood.” She touched her hand gently to Suyin’s shoulder. “Please take care of her. She’s been trapped a long time.”

“I will,” the spymaster said, holding Suyin with arms Naasir knew wouldn’t permit her to fall.

“Stay safe.” Stepping back on those words, Jason flared out his wings and made a flawless vertical takeoff. He was lost in the night within three wingbeats. Naasir knew no one would ever spot him.

“Incredible,” Andromeda breathed, her head turned upward.

Naasir scowled. “Jason doesn’t have claws.” He showed her his.

Andromeda looked at the claws, then at him, a slow smile lighting up her eyes. “Those are very sharp. Why didn’t you cut me when you grabbed me?”

“I didn’t want to cut you.” He growled at the question that shouldn’t have been asked.

“We need to find some water,” said the woman who was acting and sounding more and more like his mate. “I hate being dirty and bloody.”

“The water here isn’t good. Tainted.”

She made a face. “Then let’s leave.”

Deciding no further conversation was needed, Naasir began to lead them out of the forest. Squadrons flew overhead, but none landed. Naasir thought they’d dismissed him—if they even knew his identity yet. And they clearly believed Andromeda was in the sky. Stupid.

She kept up with the pace he set for the next three hours. It was slow for him, but he knew he was pushing her—angels weren’t meant to cover this much ground on foot. Their power was in the air. On the ground, their wings became an extra weight that created considerable drag.

Andromeda was also wearing flimsy slippers that tore halfway through.

“It’s surface pain,” she said to him when he stopped to check her feet. “The cuts will heal when we stop.”

Naasir didn’t like seeing her feet bruised and bloody, but he knew she was tough, would make it. Still, he took care to choose a path with few rocks and stones. Finally out of the formerly reborn-infested forest, he led her to a valley between two mountains. It took another hour for him to locate a spring-fed pond, but the deep water within was crystal clear and icy cold under the now-rainless night sky.

“Bathe,” he said to her, taking in the exhaustion she was trying to hide but that had made her wings begin to droop. “We can’t be out in the open at dawn.”

Andromeda placed her sword carefully on the grass. “Turn your back.”

“I want to be clean, too.” The scent of the reborn was ugly.

“I’ll watch for threats while you bathe if you do the same for me.” She folded her arms and stood in place. “I’m not stripping off unless you turn your back.”

He bared his teeth at her, but did as she asked. Dmitri had taught him that he must never take what a woman didn’t want to give.

Do not steal what only has value if freely given.

Naasir had needed to hear that. He wasn’t a bad person inside, but though he could put on a cultured skin that fooled people, inside, he sometimes still didn’t know how to behave. When he’d been younger and first starting to feel the urge to rut with females—and before he’d grown up to the point where many of the opposite sex found him irresistible—he’d tried to court girls by bringing them meat and shiny things.

It turned out he’d scared them.

“Most women and girls,” Dmitri had told him, “don’t know what to do when a man drops a hunk of raw meat in their hands.”

He’d learned that lesson after the girls screamed, dropping perfectly good meat he’d spent time hunting and skinning. When he’d come back with the shiny things, they’d looked at him with huge eyes and he’d smelled fear-stink. It had angered him and confused him and so he’d gone back to Dmitri.

“I’m not going to hurt them.”

“Unfortunately, they see you as a threat now. Start with the shiny things next time and skip the meat. If you smell fear on a woman, back off and don’t return.”

Dmitri’s advice had worked. Some women liked the shiny things and they liked to be naked with him, but then he’d scared them in bed. Apparently, biting wasn’t always allowed, and pounding into a woman’s wetness wasn’t always acceptable. Those women had pushed him off and screamed that he should be “gentle” and “courteous” and not “a feral beast.” Irritated, he’d found others who didn’t mind if he pounded or bit.

Today, many women said he was a good lover. What they didn’t know was that ever since he’d realized what was and wasn’t acceptable, he no longer unleashed his full desire, even with the women who didn’t mind if he was rough: they couldn’t take it. And with Andromeda . . . he was so deeply sexually hungry that he wanted to turn around and pounce on her, do all the sexual things he’d never before permitted himself.

A splash sounded behind him, accompanied by a startled little squeak-scream.

Grinning, he turned around and went to crouch at the water’s edge.