Archangel's Enigma

3

Naasir drew in a long, deep breath and felt his mouth water. She smelled right, smelled like his mate should smell. He wasn’t sure she was his mate yet, especially since she was so small and had such big, scared eyes, but he knew he wanted to lick her, taste her, bite her.

About to nuzzle at her, he heard Jessamy’s voice. “Naasir.”

Realizing he’d done something uncivilized in his excitement, he forced himself to step back, but he couldn’t stop looking at the delicious-smelling angel. She had skin like honey. He liked honey. He had a feeling he’d like licking her skin just as much. Her eyes were a translucent brown with a bright golden starburst around the pupil.

Pretty.

Her wings, from what he could see of them, were a rich shade close to the dark chocolate Honor liked to eat.

And her hair, it was a thick, silky-looking golden brown. It was in a braid right now, but he could tell it would be curly if let out; he already had plans to undo the braid so he could play with it. Of course, first he’d have to convince her he wasn’t planning to eat her. “Hello,” he said, on his best behavior now. “I just wanted to smell you.”

“Oh.” Lines between her eyebrows, the tone of her voice making him want to close his eyes and just listen. “Do you sniff everyone you meet?”

Smiling inside at the curiosity she couldn’t quite hide, he said, “No.” He drew in her scent again, careful to make it appear he was simply breathing. “Only women.”

“Why?”

“I’m hunting my mate.”

A sudden, dazzling smile, all her fear erased in a single heartbeat. “I suppose that makes sense.” Then she turned to Jessamy, as if everything was explained. As the two women spoke, he stood there confused. Nothing was explained. She smelled right, smelled delicious. He wanted to taste her.

Why didn’t she consider him a threat any longer?

Vow of celibacy.

He scowled at the reminder. Just because she’d taken a vow didn’t mean he was no threat. Only . . . He bit back a satisfied smile. The delicious-smelling angel thought she was safe so she’d probably allow him close to her, close enough that he could determine if she was or wasn’t his mate.

In truth, enticing though she was, he couldn’t see how she could be his—she looked very breakable and soft, but he wasn’t about to give up without determining the truth. Perhaps he was meant to have a breakable mate, though that seemed ridiculous to him.

Or perhaps she was hiding her real self.

The idea his maybe-mate might have a secret side fascinated him.

Andromeda had intended to say no to the dinner invitation from Jessamy. It wasn’t because she didn’t enjoy eating with her mentor and the weapons-master—they were two of her most favorite people in the whole world and had accepted her for who she was, seeing the woman she’d become and not the bloodline that marked her.

As for Venom, the vampire having become a familiar sight at Jessamy’s dinner table since his transfer to the Refuge, he had a biting sense of humor and a cool intelligence Andromeda appreciated.

It wasn’t even because Naasir unsettled her.

It was because she knew Jessamy had been looking forward to Naasir’s arrival, as had Galen and Venom. The four were old friends, with the three males allied to the same archangel, and she didn’t want to intrude.

However, when she opened her mouth to say no, Naasir sniffed at her again, the masculine heat of his body pressing against her, and her words deserted her. “You can’t do that,” she said when she could speak again—by which time Jessamy had taken her silence for assent and the three of them were halfway to Jessamy and Galen’s home.

Wild silver eyes looked at her in utter innocence. “What?”

“Sniff people.”

Naasir shrugged . . . and sniffed her, heavy silver strands of his hair brushing her skin. “Sorry.”

Narrowing her eyes, she pursed her lips. “You’re not sorry in the least.”

Jessamy’s gentle laughter filled the air. “Don’t let him tease you, Andromeda. He’s an expert at it.”

Andromeda decided to ignore the prowling vampire who wasn’t a vampire by her side. Except it was all but impossible to ignore Naasir, especially when he was determined not to be ignored. He picked up her braid and tugged on it. When she pulled it away, he pinched the light fabric of her gown between his fingertips and rubbed.

Stepping away didn’t stop him. He just stepped with her.

By the time Jessamy went on ahead, waving at Galen and Venom—who were waiting out in the courtyard—Andromeda wanted to snarl. Tugging away her braid one more time, she spun around to face the silver-eyed menace. “Can you not act civilized for a minute?”

He went eerily motionless, his expression altering in a way she couldn’t describe except to say that the man who’d been teasing and annoying her was suddenly not the same man any longer. “Of course,” he said, his deep voice resonant and cultured. “I apologize if I caused you any distress or offense.”

Andromeda felt her stomach knot, a sudden sick feeling inside her, but they’d reached the courtyard now lit by the gentle glow of lanterns strung up in the trees.

“I thought we’d eat out here,” Jessamy said and got a round of assent.

Hauling Jessamy close with one big hand on her nape, Galen planted a kiss on her mouth that left her breathless and flushed and smiling. A satisfied glint in his eye, the weapons-master said, “We’ll bring out the table.”

Andromeda had been startled when she’d first learned that her wise, educated, and quietly elegant mentor was madly in love with the barbarian of a man who was weapons-master to the Archangel Raphael. Two more disparate people she couldn’t imagine. Then she’d seen the tenderness in Galen’s expression when he looked at Jessamy, witnessed how Jessamy’s eyes lit up at the sound of his powerful wings.

Her heart hurt at the beauty of their bond.

“Venom, Naasir,” Galen said and the three men walked to get the table from a small building that Andromeda knew Galen used as a workshop when he didn’t want to work in the weapons arena.

That table was scarred from countless weapons being placed on it, but buffed clean. Having gone inside to get a tablecloth, Andromeda draped it over the wooden surface, hyperaware of Naasir standing on the other side before he disappeared to bring out one of the two bench seats. Minutes later, the food was out, everything ready.

Since she knew Galen and Jessamy liked to sit next to each other, she went to the bench on the opposite side. Three sets of wings competing for the same space could get awkward. Venom slid in on one side of her, Naasir on the other. Both males were careful not to touch her wings.

“First, a toast,” Galen said, splashing champagne into their glasses. “To having Naasir home with us.”

Jessamy’s face was radiant in the lamplight. “You’ve been deeply missed,” she said, raising her glass. “Next time, don’t be away so long.”

Naasir bent his head slightly in acquiescence, his expression difficult to read from what Andromeda could see of his profile, but whatever it was Jessamy saw, it made her smile deepen as they clinked glasses and drank the toast. The bubbles fizzed on Andromeda’s tongue, the taste of the champagne sunshine in a bottle.

Her homeland produced no such golden liquid, but it had a wild and heartbreaking beauty she’d missed desperately since her faux defection. At least when she returned to do her five hundred years of service, she’d be able to breathe the warm African air again, look up at the hazy blue of a sky unlike any other on this earth.

That would be her reward for each day of horror in her grandfather’s court.

“Would you like some bread?”

It wasn’t the words that startled her. It was how intensely polite they were, given the identity of the speaker. Taking the breadbasket from Naasir, she glanced up at his face and saw nothing but courteous interest. No feral glint as she’d seen earlier, certainly no attempts to annoy her.

The hairs rose on her nape again.

Disturbed by Naasir’s sudden politeness in a way she couldn’t articulate, she put a piece of the thick, warm bread on her plate and handed the woven basket to Venom. The vampire with the slitted eyes of a lethal snake and a dark sensuality that drew countless women to his bed, looked from her to Naasir but didn’t say anything except, “Thank you.”

“Here.” Jessamy passed a small bowl to Naasir. “I made your favorite. Honor sent me Montgomery’s recipe.”

Naasir took the bowl of what seemed to be rare—or was it raw?—meat of some kind, his open grin making Andromeda’s breath catch. However, the mask of civilization was firmly back on his face when he looked at her partway through the meal. “Do you require anything from this side of the table?”

Shaking her head, she took a bite of the food on her plate while Venom and Naasir sipped blood from small goblets. Venom nibbled on something here and there, but unlike Naasir, he didn’t really eat any of the solid food.

It only highlighted the fact that Naasir was no ordinary vampire.

She ate slowly, listened to the others speak . . . and felt her skin chill each time Naasir said something polite to her. Catching Jessamy’s frown at one point, she realized she was right to feel on edge. Logic told her that made no sense. People were normally polite to strangers . . . except Naasir was unlike any other person she’d ever met.

And he hadn’t been polite to her before she snapped at him.

“So, you are to find Alexander,” Galen said toward the end of the meal. “Where will you begin?”

Naasir’s silver eyes landed on Andromeda. “I was told you have possibilities for us to explore.”

“In a sense,” she said, her skin tight with a kind of cold fear that had nothing to do with Naasir’s unsettling behavior and everything to do with the fact that, unbeknownst to anyone at this table, she would soon be forced to have enemy loyalties, forced to be Charisemnon’s bonded subordinate.

Not for fifteen more days, she reminded herself. Long enough to try to save the life of an Ancient. “I never studied Alexander with the intention of finding his Sleeping place.” He had fascinated her because he was both a great statesman, and a warrior who had led his troops from the front till the day he chose to Sleep. “My suggestions are only educated guesses. I don’t presume to know the mind of an Ancient.”

“A hunt in the dark,” Venom mused. “With Lijuan’s people on your tail.”

Galen’s expression went flat, while beside Andromeda, Naasir’s fingers clenched on his goblet. “When is she going to die? I’ve been trying to accomplish that since I was a child.”

Andromeda felt her eyes widen. “Is the story true?” she asked impulsively. “That you once got into Lijuan’s Refuge stronghold and pretended to eat her pet cat?”

A sideways glance that was so cool, she almost felt frost break out over her skin. “Yes,” he said and turned back to his conversation with the others. “We also need to find out why she’s suddenly decided to murder Alexander.” A sip of blood. “Because I agree with the sire that this is far more apt to be about eliminating the competition than waking a possible ally.”

Jessamy shook her head, her expression troubled. “I’ve seen Lijuan walking closer and closer to the darkness but this I didn’t expect. To murder an Ancient in his Sleep? It’s a horror too huge to be borne.”

Andromeda could add nothing to that ugly truth.

Two hours after the dinner, Naasir shoved out of bed. He was meant to be resting so he and Andromeda could start the hunt tomorrow, but he was too wound up. She’d snapped at him to be civilized. Clearly, she wasn’t his mate even if she smelled so delicious that he could scent her in spite of the walls that separated them. It didn’t matter if she made his mouth water; his mate wouldn’t tell him to be what he wasn’t.

A woman who knows me, understands what I am, and who wants to have secret rules with me.

That’s what he’d told Ashwini he wanted in a mate and he hadn’t changed his mind. His mate wouldn’t ask him to wear a different skin, wouldn’t expect him to be “normal.” He wasn’t normal, not by any measure, but he was a person and people were allowed to have mates. He was allowed to have a mate.

Gritting his teeth against the urge to follow the beguiling scent of the woman who was clearly not his mate, he pulled on his jeans and headed to the small training arena behind the stronghold. It wasn’t the main training ring, rather a walled courtyard on the edge of a cliff where those who had to work inside the stronghold could go spar, or stretch their muscles.

He would jump up on the wall, climb down to the cliff, and make his way to the very bottom of the gorge that bisected the Refuge, then back up. The trip was difficult enough that it should exhaust—

He growled inside his chest as her scent grew in depth and intensity the closer he got to the courtyard. There were no sleeping rooms at this end of the stronghold. What was her scent doing here?

Not that he cared.

He was going to ignore it.

Muscles bunched, he stepped out into the night and frowned at the diffuse light from the two lamps someone had lit at a low intensity. His eyes adjusted quickly enough, but he preferred full dark at night. The woman who was doing some kind of exercise in the center of the training arena, however, clearly couldn’t see in the dark.

She was no longer dressed in the flowing gown the color of ripe raspberries in which he’d seen her earlier, but in black pants that hugged her curvaceous form. Her top was the same color and close to a T-shirt. The wing slits were closed off with discreet buttons, the soft fabric hugging her upper body while leaving most of her arms bare.

Light glinted off the threads of gold in her hair, her honeyed skin aglow.

When she moved, her wings rustled, but she kept them scrupulously off the ground. Galen must’ve been at her—the weapons-master was ferocious about teaching his students to maintain wing discipline. Dragging wings could not only get damaged, the habit created weak muscles. Andromeda’s wing muscles were strong, her movements graceful.

Those wings flared out as she made a controlled turn and he felt his gut clench. Her wings weren’t just chocolate dark, though that had been more than strokable enough. They were patterned with intricate gradations of color all the way to a pale golden brown, but the secret was only visible when she spread her wings.

They closed in a second later as she turned into another move.

He’d seen people practicing something like this in Lijuan’s land. It was called tai chi. He much preferred the harder, faster martial arts like karate and tae kwon do. He could take those movements and make them his own. This type of patience would drive him insane.

Watching Andromeda do it, however . . .

“Oh.” She came to a startled halt after her next turn left her facing him—and his glowing eyes.

Naasir could make them not reflect, could also shield them with his lashes when he didn’t want to be seen, but he wasn’t in a good mood right now. Scaring her with his predator’s eyes made him feel momentarily better.

About to lunge onto the top of the wall so he could begin his climb down, he was stopped by a ridiculous feminine question. “Are you looking for a sparring partner?”

He stared at her. “Do you want to die?” Naasir was very, very, very good, and unless he held back his lethal side, he could easily kill someone of her soft nature.

“No,” she said, doing another stretch in front of him.

The move pulled the fabric of her top taut over her breasts and bared a thin strip of her abdomen and he wondered if she was taunting him. His blood grew hot, his predatory instincts snarling. “You’ll die if you spar with me,” he said in warning, wanting to bite her so she’d know exactly who it was she was baiting.

“Your sire would be disappointed in you if you killed your partner.”

She wasn’t his partner. She was just someone he had to work with, but she was right: Raphael would not be happy if he killed their expert. “More reason for us not to spar.” He shifted back toward the wall he intended to scale.

“Scared?”

Naasir froze, sheer incredulity holding him in place. When he turned, it was to prowl over to her until they stood toe-to-toe, both of them in bare feet. “What did you say?”