Archangel's Enigma

25

“As I did in my time,” Caliane said at last, turning her attention back to the glossy green trees as they continued to walk. “Alexander was my compatriot, but we were never friends. He was a terror as a child, always breaking his bones and skinning his knee, while I was a girl who preferred to keep my dresses clean and to have civilized tea parties free of dirty boys.”

Andromeda felt wonder unfurl in her. Caliane’s memories came from a time so long ago that there was no one else awake in the world who knew them. “Is it lonely?” she asked impulsively. “To be the only Ancient in the world as Alexander once was? The only one with memories of times long gone?” Lijuan might believe herself an Ancient, but even if she was older than anyone knew, her age came nowhere close to Caliane’s.

Caliane didn’t strike her down for the impertinent question. Rather, the Ancient smiled. “I see why you are Naasir’s friend, scholar. You are as recklessly courageous as my son’s leashed tiger.”

Naasir isn’t leashed, Andromeda thought. He simply chose to give his loyalty to Raphael—and she had a feeling Raphael understood that. Their relationship wouldn’t otherwise be so strong.

“Yes,” Caliane said after a minute’s quiet. “It would be a pleasure to have a compatriot to speak with of times no one else remembers—perhaps I will invite Alexander to Amanat when he wakes. He grew up into a great general, and despite his foolishness in threatening my son, seems to have learned a modicum of civilized manners along the way.”

Andromeda realized Caliane was saying more than her words told. There was a hidden undertone to her statement. Caliane and Alexander hadn’t been friends, but instinct told Andromeda they’d been more than strangers. Not lovers; that wasn’t it. It could be as simple as the fact they’d sat on the same Cadre—perhaps they had exchanged dry insults across a negotiating table, all the while conscious that in the end, only an Ancient could understand another Ancient.

“Do you know of any secret places lost in time where he might Sleep?” she asked, hope burning inside her. “Could he have hidden himself under the earth as you did?” If so, the Sleeping archangel was safe.

But Caliane shook her head. “No, Alexander didn’t have an affinity for the earth.”

Andromeda’s brain clicked—despite having risen from the sea, the Legion, too, were rumored to be of the earth. Raphael must’ve inherited some of his mother’s gift, though his had manifested in a different form. “If not earth—”

“Hush, child.” A deep frown. “My memories are tangled skeins I must unravel.”

It was over a half hour later, the world gray, that Caliane said, “Metal. Alexander’s affinity was to metal. He could make iron flow like water and draw gold and silver out of the earth.”

Andromeda’s eyes widened. That fact was in none of the Histories.

“When he was a cocky youth, he pulled gold out of the earth in front of me and fashioned it into a bracelet.” Caliane shook her head. “He and Nadiel had such a rivalry . . . but Alexander grieved with me when my love’s heart no longer beat, and he remembered who Nadiel had once been.”

Andromeda heard the thickness of grief in Caliane’s voice even now. What must it have cost her to be forced to execute her insane mate? Andromeda couldn’t imagine the depth of her pain. About to gently excuse herself and leave Caliane to her private memories, she heard the Ancient draw in a breath.

“If I know Alexander, he will have built himself a vault of metal in a hidden place.” Caliane’s voice was so confident it confirmed Andromeda’s belief that the two Ancients had been closer than anyone realized. “It would’ve been impregnable to everything except angelfire when he went to Sleep, but Jelena has been teaching me about the new machines using hot light.”

“Lasers?” Andromeda guessed when Caliane paused.

“Yes. I think such a machine could cut through Alexander’s metal, even if Lijuan was not there to use the poisonous black rain she spews from her hands.”

It was news Andromeda didn’t want to hear. “Will he wake when disturbed?”

“To wake from Sleep is normally a long and slow process,” Caliane told her. “If Alexander’s subconscious terms you a threat when you first disturb him, you may end up dead before you can explain anything. I would recommend you waste no time once you have his attention.”

Andromeda swallowed, but felt no temptation to step back, attempt to hide. Far better that her last moments be spent with the most incredible man she had ever met, working to save the life of an Ancient, than to feel her soul shrivel away in her grandfather’s court.

Naasir was climbing through the treetops of Kagoshima under early evening starlight, the resident monkeys chattering at him for invading their territory, and Amanat almost within sight, when everything went quiet. The monkeys in the trees, the wild horses below, the birds in the sky. Naasir.

Holding himself in position, not even a breath stirring the air, he listened. The hairs rose on the back of his neck, the early warning system one civilized beings had learned to ignore. Naasir didn’t.

So he caught the unfamiliar scents on the breeze, heard the beat of wings snapping out to land. Turning very carefully, he made his way soundlessly through the trees. The monkeys didn’t give him away—they might scold him bad-temperedly, but when it came to animal against other, they saw him as one of them.

They also knew who belonged this close to Caliane’s territory and who didn’t.

The wings Naasir could see below definitely didn’t. It appeared he’d underestimated Lijuan’s generals—it was pure luck the light squadron had arrived too late to pluck Andromeda from the sky. Pressing himself down along the branch, Naasir strained his senses to hear what the four angels were saying.

“. . . go inside?”

“Negative.” The tallest male sliced out a hand at the sole female angel’s question. “We don’t want to start hostilities. Philomena was clear that Lady Lijuan has other priorities. Our task is only to retrieve the scholar.”

The angel on the left, the one who had skin as dark as Naasir’s, nodded. “She must be here—the last sighting from one of our people in the country puts her above the southern end of Kumamoto. There’s no other safe haven nearby, and she’s too young to have the endurance to have continued flying.”

“Agreed,” said the final man, and though his dialect differed from the others, it was familiar enough in the basics.

When Naasir was yet a child, Dmitri had told him he must learn as many languages as possible, so no one could keep secrets from him. This wasn’t the first time that advice had held Naasir in good stead.

“We watch and we wait,” said the angel who seemed to be the leader. “She can’t stay here indefinitely.”

The woman appeared dubious. “Amanat is a jewel for any historian.”

“But she has certain responsibilities in the Refuge. If she does decide to stay, we’ll reconsider our options.”

“Can we afford to wait?”

“Philomena wants her as soon as possible, but we can wait tonight. If she doesn’t leave with the dawn, I’ll contact the general.”

Naasir listened further, learned the squadron intended to spread out around Amanat, covering one quadrant each. He thought about taking them down one at a time, but if they were used to checking in with one another within short periods of time, he’d betray his hand. Deciding to leave them to their surveillance and wanting to ensure the four didn’t suspect he’d spotted them, he retraced his steps until he was about an hour out from Amanat, then ran toward the city openly.

Unlike Andromeda, he didn’t have to wait for an escort to enter Caliane’s territory. The city shield knew him, opened automatically in a welcome that was a ripple of archangelic power over his skin. The only person who could revoke his access was Caliane.

He picked up Andromeda’s scent the instant he hit the temperate air of Amanat; it was a shiny, delicious thread in the active mix of a thriving city.

“Naasir!”

He waved at the friend who’d called out to him from the second story of a nearby building, but didn’t stop. Isabel’s cool, clean scent crossed with Andromeda’s at one point, then both scents ran parallel toward the walled courtyard Isabel used as a sparring ground.

He grinned when he heard the clash of swords.

Loping up a wall on one side of the sparring ground, he crouched on top and watched Isabel and Andromeda dance with blades. His former partner in Amanat was good . . . but Andromeda was better. He hadn’t expected that. Neither, he saw, had Isabel. Naasir knew her, could read her expressions, tell when Andromeda’s moves surprised her.

Because, Naasir realized, Andromeda fought instinctively.

Dahariel had given her an excellent grounding, but she adapted her moves to the flow of combat, causing Isabel to have to rethink her more classical style. His eyes narrowed. That wasn’t just skill, not given Andromeda’s age—the instinct came from within.

She was an archangel’s granddaughter.

But where her mother wasted the strength that ran in her veins, Andromeda had honed it, made it her own. When she put her blade to Isabel’s throat in a move that signaled a win, her chest heaving but her hand steady, he wanted to growl in pride. Instead, he waited until the women drew apart and raised their swords in front of their faces in the respectful bow of two warriors.

Jumping down to the ground, he saw Andromeda’s head whip around. “Naasir!” She ran straight into his arms, sword thrust into a scabbard that hung alongside one of her thighs. He recognized it as one of Isabel’s.

And then she was cupping his face in her hands and all he could see was the clear brown of her irises, the golden starburst around her pupils bright. “You’re safe!”

Sliding his arms around her under her wings, he picked her up and spun her around. “You were worried about me.” He could look after himself, but it seemed right that a mate should worry.

“Of course I was worried.” Andromeda pretended to hit his shoulders as he held her up off the ground, but it was more a caress than censure. “You took your time getting here.”

Really wanting to kiss her—stupid Grimoire—he put her on the ground and sneakily petted her wings.

She shot him a minatory look but her lips were tugging up at the corners, her eyes sparkling. Playing with him again. Their own secret game. When her fingers brushed his, he closed his hand over hers. “I had to avoid Lijuan’s squadron,” he told her and Isabel. “They’re waiting for Andi to emerge from Amanat.”

Hands on her hips, Isabel asked for further information. “Hmm,” she said afterward. “Let them skulk about for now. We’ll eliminate the four from the equation when you and Andi are ready to leave—we don’t want to give Philomena a chance to send reinforcements or replacements.”

“We can do it,” he said, including both women in his statement.

Isabel shook her head. “Caliane’s squadrons need the experience and the confidence that comes from defeating the enemy.”

Naasir decided he could allow the squadron that; this prey wasn’t very interesting. “I need to speak to Caliane.” The Ancient would expect him. He wasn’t hers, but she thought of him as hers while he was here, and regardless, she had his respect.

Caliane might be an archangel known for her grace and the haunting beauty of her voice, but she had the same killer instinct as Naasir—and the same devotion to family.

Andromeda was still giddy with relief an hour later when Naasir climbed up to her balcony and walked into her room through the open doors. He’d bathed somewhere, was dressed in clean jeans and a white collarless shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Made of either a fine cotton or linen, it was washed soft and fit him so well that she knew it was his. He must’ve left clothes in Amanat.

Walking over to where she was sitting on the edge of her bed making notes on a small pad, he sat down beside her and nuzzled at her. She should’ve stopped him but she didn’t. His warm breath, his warmer skin, his quintessentially masculine scent, the dampness of his freshly washed hair, it all felt too good, felt like the best thing she would ever feel.

“Did you feed?” she asked in a husky tone, having noticed the fine lines of strain on his face when he first arrived.

“Yes.” He sprawled on the bed behind her—as if he had every right to just take over her space. “Have you seen the angel we rescued?”

Andromeda turned to sit with one leg bent and on the bed, curling her fingers into her palm to keep from reaching out and stroking the hard muscle of his thigh. “No, she’s in anshara.”

“She was brave,” Naasir said, his tone matter-of-fact. “She’ll survive.”

“The body, yes, but I worry about her mind and her heart.”

“When she wakes, she’ll make a choice to live or to die while living.” Starkly solemn words. “No one can make it for her.”

That metal hand, it was back, crushing her chest. “Did you ever have to do that?” she whispered.

“Yes, when I was created. I decided to live and to be me.”

It should’ve been a nonsensical statement, for what child remembered its birth? Yet she knew it for pure truth—Naasir didn’t lie. “I’m glad,” she said. “I like you.”

A glint of silver under the curl of his lashes. “Lie down beside me.”

Heart aching, she didn’t fight her need or his. Going down on her side beside him, she propped her head on one hand . . . and spread a wing over his chest.

His smile held her captive, the hands with which he petted her feathers unexpectedly gentle. Though he stayed away from the highly sensitive areas, the caresses made her toes curl.

“Pretty feathers,” he murmured, lashes lowered as he indulged himself. “Do you know you have bronze filaments that catch the sunlight?”

“No, I don’t.” Andromeda knew her wings weren’t striking, but they were strong and they took her to the freedom of the sky. It was more than enough.

Naasir smoothed out a feather. “Look.”

When she did, she caught the faint glimmer of a bronze filament hidden among all the others on a middle primary covert. Wonder unfurled in her. “How did you notice that?”

“Because I notice you.” With that comment that stole her breath, he began to stroke her wing again. “Alexander—tell me your thoughts.”

Andromeda looked at the notepad she’d dropped on the bed by her breasts. She’d been using it to organize her thoughts. “I think there’s a high chance he’s in his former territory, but not beneath what was his palace.”

She blew out a breath. “I tried to direct Lijuan’s people away from the entire region, but I don’t think Xi was convinced.” The tightrope she’d walked in Lijuan’s throne room made her breath turn shallow even now. “If he does go there, I’m certain he’ll focus on the palace.”

“Rohan is very strong—he’ll delay them.” Naasir bent his forearm behind his head. “Had you asked him, he’d have volunteered to be the first line of defense for his father.”

“Should we warn him?”

Naasir took out a sleek black phone in answer. “Jelena had a spare,” he told her before making a call to Raphael. “The sire will speak one-to-one with Rohan, tell him Lijuan’s plans,” he shared with her after a short conversation. “Rohan’s loyalty to his father is an indelible part of him.”

Trusting his judgment, she nodded. “What about Favashi?”

“She hasn’t chosen a side—and if Alexander rises, it’s near certain Favashi will no longer be the Archangel of Persia. Rohan won’t risk telling her.” With that frank summary, Naasir placed his hand flat on her wing, the touch possessive. “If not below the palace, then where?”

Wanting desperately to erase the distance between them, she picked up her notepad and showed him the crude map she’d drawn. “There’s a highly complex cave system about a five-hour flight from the palace.” More than distant and remote enough to offer total privacy.

“Parts of the cave system are so deep that no one has ever successfully explored them, though many have attempted it. Most,” she said, the tiny hairs on her arms standing up, “give up after suffering injuries. The others have disappeared without a trace.”

“Alexander is Sleeping with one eye open?”

“He was a general.” Giving in to need, she began to pet Naasir’s hair. His rumbling purr made her thighs clench, her breasts feel as if they were swelling . . . and her heart threaten to break.

Forcing herself to speak past the lump in her throat, she said, “One mortal explorer who barely made it out said that at the far end of the caves, deep in the earth, there’s a great chasm filled with molten lava.” Andromeda hadn’t been able to stop imagining the terrifyingly beautiful sight ever since she’d read the explorer’s rambling, fragmented report.

“Most people discount his report because his sanity was broken by whatever it was he saw, but the report’s full of too much detail for me to do the same. A number of the things he said line up exactly with how I imagine an Ancient might protect himself.” About to tell Naasir more about what the explorer had stated, her mouth suddenly fell open.

She sat up in bed, eyes wide. “Maybe what the explorer saw wasn’t lava at all, but molten metal—Caliane says Alexander had a strong affinity to it.”

Silver eyes gleamed at her. Moving without warning, Naasir grabbed one of her arms and hauled her across his chest.

“Naasir!”

“To get to the metal-lava chasm,” he said, totally ignoring her frown and holding her flush to the hard heat of his chest with one arm around her waist, “we’ll have to infiltrate Favashi’s territory.”

Propping up her chin on her hands, the feel of his heart beating under her a deep pleasure, she surrendered to the indulgence of being so close to him. “You can sneak in anywhere. I’m the problem.” She made a face.

“I need you.” Blunt words that fell like a gift over her. “You carry knowledge about Alexander that could cause us to change our path midway.”

“Yes.” Her theory was based on historical records and instinct. There was no predicting the actuality. “I wouldn’t let you go alone anyway. It’s dangerous.”

A slow smile that turned into a growl that made her skin go tight and her blood turn to honey. “That stupid Grimoire book.” Gripping her chin, he bared his teeth at her. “I haven’t forgotten your promise. I get to do anything I want to you after I find it.”

Andromeda couldn’t breathe. “Anything you want,” she whispered, her voice husky and her breasts so swollen they ached. “Touching, licking, biting . . . anything.”

The smile returned and this time it was so primal she knew that should he ever take her, he’d own her. Every inch, every drop, everything.