Archangel's Sun

32

When Titus pulled out her chair for her, she was startled to see a scowl mar his smile. Had he picked up on her discomfort and uncertainty? She’d hope she was a better guest than that—but Titus, she was learning, had more sensitivity than the majority of the world realized; never would she forget his internal struggle as he readied himself to wipe the villagers’ minds.

“I see we are to starve.” The table was piled with dishes upon dishes, all of them steaming and aromatic, but that wasn’t why she made the comment—she found she didn’t like it when Titus went quiet, and as he seemed unable to resist responding to sarcasm or dry words on her part, she’d use it to break his mood.

“I told you, I’m hungry—and I have a cook who signed on to feed an archangel’s court but is now managing troop meals. The man can’t help himself,” he grumbled and picked up a dish. “Try this. You’ll like it.”

Wondering if his mood resulted from hunger, she took a spoonful. When he stared at the tiny amount on her plate, she rolled her eyes. “I want to taste all the dishes and I won’t be able to do that if I stuff myself on the first one.”

Not appearing convinced in the least, he nonetheless began to dish out his own portion while she tried her spoonful. It bloomed an array of fresh and bright flavors on her tongue. Moaning deep in her throat, she glanced up. “I’m not saying you were right, but maybe I should’ve taken more.”

A dazzling smile shattering the scowl, he handed over the bowl . . . even as her breath caught. He was beautiful, with a warmth to him that drew her like a moth to a flame. And while he might flit from woman to woman, he was honest in his attentions. He didn’t lie and make false promises.

Any mark he left wouldn’t be one scored by cruelty.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Another aromatic spoonful placed on her plate. “Eat. You gave away your food during our journey, and you’ll be in the skies again as soon as darkness falls.”

Her stomach chose that moment to growl.

When Titus laughed, the sound a booming wave of joy, she found herself joining in, sparks of delight in her bloodstream. It had been so long since she’d laughed with such open happiness, but being with Titus . . . yes, he made her feel good. He might infuriate and aggravate her, but he never made her feel lesser or unimportant.

They ate in friendly harmony for the next fifteen minutes, passing each other dishes, and having a little of that, a lot of that, until their stomachs were sated to the point that conversation was possible. “You slept?” she asked, as he refilled his plate.

She could tell he hadn’t eaten properly for too long—she could see it in the sharpness of his cheekbones, the subtle leanness of his torso. It could happen that way with the incredibly powerful—a sudden physical shift when they burned too hot.

And Titus would be running at this pace for some time to come.

Picking up a dish he’d particularly enjoyed, she held it out. She’d never again wait on any man, but she was a woman who took care of her people, and she wouldn’t permit Aegaeon to steal that part of her nature—especially given that Titus would feed her to the brim if she permitted it.

Creases forming in his cheeks and light in his eyes, Titus accepted the dish. “Asante, Shari.”

She had no trouble recognizing the language. “You’re welcome.”

“I did sleep and you were right, I feel much better for it.” A scowl. “Don’t say ‘I told you so.’ I get quite enough of that from my sisters.”

“Why have I not heard more about your sisters?” It was true she didn’t pay much attention to casual gossip, but surely she should’ve heard of the family of an archangel.

“Probably because they’re so much older.” He took a long drink of ale. “I suppose those who don’t know us believe that, with such a difference in age, we mustn’t be close.” A grin. “As if the first general would permit anything but full cohesion in her personal family squadron.”

Her lips curved. “You’re very proud of your mother.”

“Yes.” He put a choice bit of meat on her plate. “I’m also happy she’s currently Sleeping. A man needs a break from mothering every few millennia. Of course, with my sisters taking up the cause, I’m not so sure I’m better off.”

Fascinated, she waited for him to go on.

“One thing is certain—under no circumstance will I let my mother join my army when she wakes, though she is a brilliant general who is feted by others,” he added, brow dark. “She’d probably tell me all my strategies were wrong, and also ask me why I wasn’t wearing a shirt.”

Sharine wanted to laugh, but wasn’t about to break the moment.

“Alexander is ready to take her back with open arms any time she wakes—and once there, she’ll no doubt slay half his court with her magnetic presence.” A huge grin, the sun slamming into her with brilliant force. “I inherited my charm from her. We both must beat off suitors with a stick.”

Sharine narrowed her eyes. “Once again, I’m blinded by your modesty.”

Her dry comment just made his grin deepen . . . and her stomach drop. Because oh, he was unrepentant and bright and he loved. That was one of the most attractive things about Titus. He might mutter about his sisters and mother, but that he loved them was a candle flame in his heart she could almost see.

“My father was so spent by his time with my mother that he has been Sleeping since I was seven hundred years old.” A chuckle. “Before he went to Sleep, he told me she’d worn him out and it was glorious. Now he must recover.”

Her lips twitched, he was being so consciously wicked.

Eyes sparkling at her, he leaned forward. “She stayed with him some seventy-five years. She fell with child five decades into it.”

Shadows in her heart, memories of another little boy with parents who hadn’t been bound throughout his childhood. “Did you grow up with your mother?”

“My mother, my father, my sisters, their loves, the entire damn lot of them.” He groaned. “My father bought a home right next to my mother, and so we were a family even after they were no longer lovers.” More love in his voice, open and proud. “He’s a warrior, too, and between them, they taught me how to wield a sword before I could fly.”

The shadows burned away under the searing warmth of his voice. “Surely, with such a mother, more of your siblings must be warriors.”

“Our mother always told us to be true to our nature, to be honest in the path we chose to walk.” Again, such love and respect in every word. “Zuri and Nala are squadron commanders in Alexander’s army. You know of Charo. Phenie is a musician.”

“Oh!” She gasped. “Phenie? Your sister is Phenie?” One of the most celebrated harpists in all of angelkind. “Goodness, Titus, talent runs strong and fierce in your family.”

“Do you know how much harp music I had to listen to growing up?” His groan vibrated in her bones. “Every time she babysat me, it was harp, harp, harp. Phenie says she was attempting to soothe the feral beast that was her little brother, constantly jumping on the furniture and flying from the chandeliers, and diving off balconies.”

Laughter spilled from her as he reached for the tankard of ale at his elbow and, head tilted slightly back, drank it down in long, hard swallows.

His throat moved, the tendons strong against his skin.

Toes curling and stomach tight, she picked up her own tankard and took a drink. It was potent, burning fire into her guts. But she liked that, liked that it cleared her mind and brought her back to her senses. Until by the time Titus put his tankard down and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, she had herself under control.

Yet her voice came out husky when she said, “I think I would very much like to meet your sisters.”

Titus knew all four would love her. Not the distant and admired Hummingbird, but Sharine, as she was now. Brilliant with life and energy and with a subtle but undeniable sensuality of which she seemed unaware, but he’d very definitely noticed. The way she ran her fingers over different-textured surfaces from velvet to wood, the way she drew in scents, her eyes fluttering half-shut as she lost herself to the sensation, and the way she sometimes watched him as if she’d like to take a bite out of him.

Titus wasn’t unwilling in the least. He’d like her artist’s fingers to trace his body and learn his textures, grew hard at the thought of her drawing in then luxuriating in the scent of him, and as for the bite? He’d cup her lower curves and lift her up so she could take that bite directly from his mouth.

The woman was an inferno in a bottle.

No one looking at her would ever guess that she was millennia older than Titus.

His gut clenched again, his shoulders locking. He’d forgotten the age difference as they ate together, only now recalling the long life she’d lived. Far longer than his own. Such things didn’t matter among angels after a few millennia of existence, but for all intents and purposes, Sharine was an Ancient.

A beloved and revered Ancient.

Who’d made him itch to stroke the slope of her back as she passed him in the doorway, and whose laughter rippled over him like stroking hands. His cock had reacted to that same laughter, and to the light in her eyes as she listened to his tales of family with open interest.

She . . . compelled him.

Titus tensed. He was a man with strong carnal appetites, but he had those appetites under strict control. While he loved his mother, he’d seen her lead men around by the cock since he was a child—Titus had no desire to become akin to those lustbound men. No woman with whom he’d ever dallied had come close to wielding such control over him.

Picking up a grape from the platter on the table, Sharine parted her lips to put it inside, and his entire body hummed with need. He was half of a mind to sweep his arm out to smash all the food to the floor, then lift her up and sit her down on the table so he could feast on her instead.

Teeth gritted, he pushed back his chair and stood. “I must return to the patrol. It’s possible we may be able to spot and eliminate entire burrows of reborn while they’re resting.”

Sharine shot him a penetrating look. “Have you heard from your scientists about the reborn angel?”

“Nothing conclusive yet.” Stretching out his wings, he said, “If you don’t wish to work on your art, you’re welcome to use my library.” He was well aware he was lighting the wick of her temper, and yet, despite the danger she presented to him, he couldn’t stop. Crossing swords with Sharine was far too tempting.

Dagger eyes, exactly as he’d planned. “Is it safe to visit Charisemnon’s court?”

Snapping back his wings, he stared at his most uncooperative guest. “Why would you wish to go there?” He’d assumed she’d want to go out with a squadron—and they could use her abilities in the field.

“Not now—in the light hours,” she clarified. “I want to hunt through Charisemnon’s court for anything that might’ve been missed—notes about his experiments, other information.”

On her feet, she put one hand on the back of her chair. “You and your people went in as warriors, to clear enemy territory of dangers. You weren’t looking for notes or information on an angelic disease—and I’m not unskilled at hunting for information.”

Everything inside him rebelled at sending her to that place.

Seeking time to think, he turned to where he’d left his breastplate and other armor. He pulled it on today, complete with the shoulder, wrist, and back guards.

His fighters were tired, his people equally so. Sometimes, a symbol mattered. Sliding his swords into crisscrossing sheaths on his back, he came to a decision.

“If you’re looking for information on the disease,” he said, “it’ll most likely be at his border stronghold—he holed up there for some time prior to the war.” His mouth twisted. “I thought he was being a good ally, readying himself for the battle we all knew would come.”

“Yes, he would’ve kept his notes close by.” She searched Titus’s face. “That you didn’t immediately assume dishonor says much about you, Titus.”

Waving aside her words, he said, “We don’t know what ugliness pollutes the air of Charisemnon’s border stronghold.”

“If it’s enough to kill an angel of my age,” she said with equanimity, “then the world is indeed in trouble and it’d be better if we knew now.”

Titus didn’t want to agree with her, but she was right. He gave a curt nod.

But when dawn broke after a night of brutal work against shrieking, vicious reborn, he said, “If you wait until I’ve finished with the stragglers, I’ll accompany you.”

Sweaty and dirty and tired above the field of battle, a small woman with a giant spirit, she compressed her lips. “Will I cause a security problem by going as soon as I clean up? Do you need me in the field in the hours to come?”

He could lie to her and she wouldn’t know any different, but Titus was no liar. “No, I’m sending most of the squadrons and ground teams back home to rest and recharge.”

“What of Charisemnon’s court?” she asked. “I don’t wish to cut into your people’s precious rest time by needing to take a security detail.”

Again, he didn’t lie. “The stronghold is safe, with a permanent guard squadron.” He’d always intended to more fully investigate his enemy’s base. “It is, however, apt to be disgusting. We hauled away the bodies and blasted water over the main floors, but had no time for a deeper clean.”

“I’m not afraid of a little mess.”

No, she wasn’t, he thought, recalling how she’d helped pile the reborn carcasses for the bonfire. “I’ll assign you a fighter from the guard squadron on the off-chance we missed anything.”

Titus’s people had swept the stronghold top to bottom, but there was no point in taking chances . . . especially with Sharine, this angel who was causing a reaction in him for which he very much wasn’t ready. “I wouldn’t have angelkind after my head because I didn’t take care of the Hummingbird while she was in my keeping.”

“I’m not a relic to be hidden away.” Streaks of color on her cheeks that made her glow. “Neither do I belong to anyone but myself. I am not in anyone’s keeping.” Fire in her eyes, oh such brilliant fire.

It scalded him. And it made him hunger to burn himself in it.

He wanted to grip her chin, initiate the beginnings of a kiss. She’d probably stab him with her blade for daring. Because this woman, she wasn’t angelkind’s fragile treasure. She was Sharine, who’d bickered with him as they flew, and who’d offered him seconds of the dishes she’d noticed he liked best. A woman who was even now hovering toe-to-toe with him, her head tilted back to meet his gaze as he looked down.

He didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember her moving, but heat steamed the air between them. It was madness, but still he dipped his head and took her lips in a kiss that devoured. His hand was cupping the silken skin of her cheek before he knew it, and he well felt the shock of her own hand gripping his biceps; her nails bit into his flesh in a warning that she wasn’t happy.

But she didn’t end the kiss even when he hauled her closer and stroked one hand down to cup the lower curves of her body, his other arm locked around her upper back and his rigid cock pushing into her stomach. His head was smoke, filled with intoxication, his breathing jagged. And he craved. More and more and still more.