Archangel's Sun

45

Titus was covered in reborn filth and exhausted from a night of fighting when his phone rang. He didn’t wish to speak to Sharine in such a state, but neither was he about to miss her call.

But when he answered, it wasn’t her face that filled the screen. Two identical ones had taken her place; the interlopers had skin of deep brown and hazel eyes slanted sharply over equally dramatic cheekbones, their hair in matching sleek black tails. Most of the world couldn’t tell them apart.

Titus wasn’t one of those people.

“Zuri, Nala, I see you couldn’t help poking your nose into my business,” he grumbled, but his heart expanded to see them alive and well.

“Oh, Tito”—Zuri blew him a kiss—“you know you missed us.”

Nala, the quieter of the two, just smiled, and it was the roguish smile of the sister who’d snuck him out of the Refuge so they could go track a bunch of tiger cubs. Zuri, meanwhile, had taught him to ride a wild stallion. Creatures with wings didn’t usually ride such beasts, but his sisters had never much cared for the ordinary way of things.

“What have you done with Sharine?” he asked, wondering what she’d made of the twins.

“We asked with much politeness if we could use her phone to speak to our brother—since you now have a phone.” A gleeful Zuri held up another phone. “I’ve put your number in mine and Nala’s phones, too. Now we don’t have to write you letters!”

Titus half groaned, half laughed, while the twins grinned. “The reborn cleanup?”

“Close to done on this side. Your beautiful and dangerous spymaster agrees with me.”

Lowering his brows, Titus pointed at Zuri. “Do not seduce Ozias.” His sister had inherited their mother’s ability to turn lovers into slaves. “I don’t wish to deal with a spymaster with a broken heart.”

Nala spoke for the first time. “I don’t know, Tito. I think your Ozias might crush Zuri here under her boot, and Zuri will be grateful for it.”

As Zuri shot her twin a glare, Titus found himself laughing. It was good to see his sisters, good to speak with them, good to hear their banter. “Is the boy with you?”

“Xander is gazing in awe at Lady Sharine.” Zuri waggled her eyebrows. “Careful, baby brother, or young Xander might steal your lady.”

Of course his sisters had already worked out that Sharine was special to him. “Sharine will shred any man who dares lay a hand on her without permission. She can’t be stolen.” No, his Shari would decide to whom she’d give herself . . . and if she decided to give him nothing but a fleeting moment of eternity, he’d take it.

Not that Titus was going to give up on fighting for forever. He wasn’t a man who surrendered at the first hurdle. The choice, however, would be hers. Always. “Report,” he said.

The words Zuri spoke now were of a commander in an archangel’s forces. She gave him numbers of nests cleared, updates on the situation in the outlying regions, and a rundown on the wounded among their squadrons. “The reborn infestation in the north was nothing in comparison to what we’ve heard of the south,” she finished. “A week at the most to deal with the final nests, and we should be in Narja.”

“Rest there, then fly on to me,” he said. “Much work remains to be done in the lower half of the southern part of the continent.”

“I’ve been an astonishingly brilliant ambassador for you, little brother,” Zuri added after the formal report. “Half the continent is now in love with me.” Buffing her nails on the leather of her jerkin, she beamed. “The other half are panting after our enigmatic Nala.”

He couldn’t help his bark of laughter; he did love his sisters.

After a touch more family chatter, including updates on Charo and Phenie, the twins passed the phone to Sharine. As always, the sight of her knocked all the air out of his lungs even as sunshine flooded his bloodstream.

Sharine had become his sun, the star around which he revolved.

The realization still terrified him on a daily basis, but Titus was no lily-livered coward. “I hope my sisters aren’t driving you too mad?”

“Truly, they’re wonderful.” A smile so deep he could almost touch it. “They do adore you, you know. Such praise I’ve heard of your exploits, Titus. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you a god among men.”

He scowled. “I am a god among men.” But he had something far more important on his mind. “Zuri tells me that another week or so and you’ll be back in Narja.”

Sharine inclined her head. “It’ll ease your heart to know that this side of the continent breathes easier. They’ve found hope in the heavy presence of angelic squadrons, as well as the methodical cleanup of reborn nests.”

“Good.” Titus wanted his people to be able to live without fear. “I must continue to fight in the south for weeks to come.” Gut clenched, he said, “Will you be able to stay?”

“No, I must return to Lumia.” No smile now, the remnants of play eclipsed by harsh reality. “All is well there at present, but the world is fragile and Lumia is a symbol. Angelkind needs to see that everything remains stable in that small pocket of civilization.”

Titus had known her answer before he asked; he understood the responsibility she carried on her slender shoulders. “Then I will come to you.” A rough promise. “After this is done, I’ll come to you and we’ll dance in that fire.”

Her eyes glowed from within.

As it was, fate changed their plans six days later.

The team in charge of discovering the secrets held in the body of Charisemnon’s child contacted Titus with the news that they’d solved the enigma of her blood. Aware he could no longer justify leaving the Cadre in the dark, he flew back home at speed and arrived at sunset to find the northern squadrons settling in.

Sharine was in her suite, preparing to leave for Lumia on the dawn.

Taking her hand, the gauntlet around his wrist and lower forearm catching the fading light, he ran the pad of his thumb over her skin. “Sira called you?” Titus had instructed the healer to share all knowledge of the child with Sharine.

Fingers sliding between his, their hands entwined, she said, “Yes. I went down to the isolation ward after my arrival and had a face-to-face chat, was able to view the results. Have you had a chance yet?”

“Yes, it was my first stop.” Titus wanted badly to close the door to her suite, shut out the world, and just drink in Sharine, but he wasn’t Charisemnon, to wallow in his own desires when the fate of the world hung in the balance. “I must call a meeting of the Cadre.”

A fleeting brush of her fingers on his jaw, then they were moving.

Sharine went once more to take a position in a corner of the meeting room, out of sight of the cameras, but he shook his head. “Stand with me. You are my witness to all that has gone before.” No one would dare call him a liar, but given the utter depravity of what he planned to share, there was no reason not to add another voice to his own. It might stop the inevitable wave of disbelieving questions.

In truth, it was all an excuse; he wanted Sharine beside him.

It took several minutes for the entire Cadre to respond. Each and every one of them had faces worn with exhaustion, though Aegaeon’s grew fiery with new energy the instant he laid eyes on Sharine. “Lady mine,” he began.

“You may address me as Lady Sharine,” was the icy interjection from Titus’s side.

He tried not to look smug.

“Caliane, my friend,” Sharine said with unhidden warmth while Aegaeon was yet gaping at her, “it’s good to see you.”

Eyes of intense, pure blue smiled. “Sharine.”

Since Caliane was the last one to join the meeting, Titus decided to begin without further delay. “Our friend Charisemnon left us another gift.”

As they listened, their faces growing angrier and more tense word by word, he told them of the pregnant infected angel—and of the child she’d borne. “The babe is of Charisemnon’s line and she’s typical of an angelic child in every way,” he said before the more hotheaded among the Cadre could explode at the fact he’d permitted her to live. “A perfect little girl.”

Caliane wrapped her arms around her body, her skin suddenly seeming thin over her bones. “She’s a carrier? Did the mother’s infection spread to her child?”

“No. The babe is a miracle.” A treasure undeserving of Charisemnon. “Her blood holds the cure to the angelic infection.”

A roar of questions.

Titus gave as many answers as he could, with Sharine answering an equal number.

“Yes, I was with the squadron that discovered the living infected angel,” she said after Titus told the Cadre of that angel. “He is the test subject for the cure, and he’s showing visible signs of improvement. Titus and I stand witness to that.”

Titus nodded. “The man no longer appears as if his skin is in the process of rotting. He’ll need much more time before he is himself, but the scientists tell me they’ve run laboratory experiments to test the cure against samples of his infected blood. The cure defeats the infection every single time.”

“Yes,” Sharine said, smoothly picking up the narrative. “Once cleansed of infection, the tested blood has proven immune to any attempts to reintroduce the sickness to it.”

He could see the members of the Cadre—all but Raphael—assessing and reassessing her as she spoke, but the only one in whose reaction he was interested was Aegaeon. The horse’s ass kept attempting to capture her attention.

She was having none of it.

Oh, she answered Aegaeon’s questions, but she gave him nothing more. The blue-green-haired donkey finally got the message and stopped shoving himself to the forefront—but Titus knew this wasn’t the end of it. Sharine was . . . radiant in her full power, and the piece of steaming shat was realizing too late what he’d thrown away.

Today, however, was about an innocent babe.

“We can’t begin this new era by killing a child.” It was Caliane who spoke. Caliane, who’d already admitted that the massacre she’d once orchestrated made her less than an impartial party in such discussions.

Neha, too, nodded. “I’ve had to kill far too many children in the recent past. It is enough.” Her face was haggard, exhaustion heavy on her shoulders. “We must allow this child to live—while maintaining a careful watch and running regular tests to ensure Charisemnon didn’t hide within her, another plague.”

Titus had already considered that the infant might be both a treasure and a weapon. “I propose that we keep her in Charisemnon’s border court for the time being. As young as she is, so long as she has attention and care, she won’t miss the lack of other children.” Angelic children grew at a glacial pace in mortal terms; Sira’s team would have plenty of time to unearth all the answers.

“Does she have a name?” Caliane’s quiet voice. “Every child should have a name.”

“Zawadi.” All this time, in a foolish attempt to maintain distance, he hadn’t given the child a name, but he’d always known what it would be—and his Shari agreed. Her second name would be Asmaerah, the name of the courageous woman who had been her mother.

“A gift,” Alexander murmured. “I hope you prove right to name her thus, my friend.”

“You don’t have the capacity to raise her.” Hands on his hips, Aegaeon filled the screen with himself. “Not with the world as it is.”

True words—just brayed by a self-important peacock.

“One of my people has already bonded to the child and is willing to take the position.”

“She is young and full of hope,” Sharine added. “Most importantly, little Zawadi is happy with her. Titus and I will oversee her care regardless—in saving her life, we took responsibility for that life.”

“When can your scientists send the cure to the rest of us?” Alexander shoved a hand through his hair, the strands overlong in a way Titus had not before seen.

The Ancient hadn’t been the same since he’d carried Zanaya’s wasted body to her place of Sleep. It made Titus believe that Zanaya was to Alexander what Sharine had become to Titus. If so, he could well imagine his friend’s anguish.

“Yes.” Aegaeon, butting in again. “It’s possible the infection did cross the border.”

“Within the week,” Titus said. “It’s a priority for the team on the task.”

Dropping her arms, Caliane spread out wings edged with a glow. “Then we’re done here—unless any of you have an argument with the decision?” When no one raised an objection, she said, “The Cadre has spoken.”

The archangels began to sign off. Raphael did so with a smile for Sharine that reached his eyes. For a second, Titus was sure he saw a glitter of light in the Cascade mark on Raphael’s temple, but no, the mark was as dark as it had been since the end of the war.

“I’ll call once you’re at Lumia,” the pup said to Sharine, “and we can speak longer.”

“You need rest, Raphael.” Maternal chiding. “I can see you haven’t been eating or sleeping as you should.”

That Raphael simply took the chiding told Titus there was much he didn’t know about the relationship between Sharine and the youngest member of the Cadre. So much life she’d lived, so many loves she nurtured in her heart.

“I’ll recover.” Raphael’s smile formed creases in his cheeks. “So will my city. Elena has voluntarily promised to organize a block party when New York shines once again.”

“I await my invitation!” Titus boomed; he’d had a grand time at the last one. But this time, he’d either dance in the streets with Sharine . . . or he’d stay home, a brokenhearted mess of a man.

The image should’ve made him back off, run. It was the one thing he’d never wanted—to be so reliant on a woman’s favor. But not only did he stay in place, he gloried in the lush caress of her voice as she farewelled Raphael. “My love to you both. Tell Elena I wear her gift each and every day.”

“I know my consort will be glad to hear it.” Raphael signed off.

When Titus saw Aegaeon hovering in wait, he sent his technician a mental command to “accidentally” cut the connection. At last, he was alone with the woman who’d ruined him for all others.

He had no fucking idea what he’d do if it all went wrong.

Turning to her, he held out a hand. “I’m filthy now, but after I bathe, will you spend the night in my arms?” The next hours would be the last free ones he’d have for weeks—perhaps months—to come. “I must rest before I fly back to my troops. I wouldn’t do it without you.”

A slender but strong hand sliding into his, eyes of champagne light dazzling in their penetrating beauty. “Yes.”

But she didn’t pull away at the door to his suite, to wait for him while he bathed. No, she followed him inside, then very deliberately locked the door. He’d landed on her balcony when he flew home, so his balcony doors were already shut.

Heart thunder and breath tight, he stood motionless as she moved toward him.

When she dropped her hands to his left gauntlet, he held it up and allowed her to unclasp it. She put it aside on a nearby table, then returned to unclasp the right gauntlet. He had to go down on one knee so she could remove the shoulder guards, and though he’d never knelt before any other lover, it didn’t feel wrong to kneel for her.

This, what lived between them, it was no game of power.

It was a thing deep and true and terrifying.

Rising again after the shoulder guards were gone, he spread out his wings so she could unclasp the intricate mechanisms of the back guard and breastplate, then lifted off both and put them on the table beside the other pieces. His next action was to strip off his black undershirt. His boots and socks, he’d already abandoned on her balcony, they were so encrusted with gore.

It left him dressed only in battered pants of dark brown.

Taking his hand, Sharine led him to the bath that Yash had already prepared—his steward, when not out in the field, was a stickler about doing certain tasks himself. It was a huge tub, as befit an archangel and a man of his size. Steam rose from the surface, the water a milky aqua-blue as a result of the natural minerals of the springs from which it was fed.

He looked down at the filth of himself and grimaced. “I need to wash off first.” Not a man in any way uncomfortable with his body, he went to strip off his pants so he could step under the large showerhead to the right when a sudden heat burned his cheeks. “Do you . . . ?”

Husky laughter. “Did I not tell you archangels have the same parts as any man?”

He was about to scowl at her when she put her hands to the bottom of her tunic and pulled it off over her head. He almost swallowed his tongue. Sharine wasn’t wearing a singlet today.

Holding his gaze, she pushed down her pants and the little scrap of lace and silk she’d been wearing beneath.

Titus was finding it difficult to breathe, and when she said, “Hurry,” he thought his rib cage would crack in two.

Almost tripping over himself in his haste to strip off his pants, he looked up just in time to see her undo the tie on her hair. A river of gold-tipped black tumbled down her back, almost reaching the curve of her ass.

He hitched on the last word. It seemed a highly inappropriate way to think of the Hummingbird.

But this wasn’t the Hummingbird. This was Sharine, who stepped under the falling water and gave him a look sultry and impatient. He joined her, his hand already on her very fine ass. Turning, she picked up the simple washcloth he preferred over the fripperies his staff occasionally attempted to foist on him, and soaped it up.

Then, as he threw back his head under the cleansing cascade of water, she ran the washcloth over every inch of him she could reach, wiping away the blood and gore and the stain of death. He’d been hard since the moment she entered his suite but his erection was a rigid length of iron by the time she was done.

Closing soapy fingers around it, she stroked.

He gripped her wrist. “Enough torture for now, Shari.”

Laughter full of primal delight and a kiss so reckless that he gripped her hips and hitched her up. She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist. Pressing her back against the simple black tile of his bathing chamber, her wings a dazzle of color, he reached down between her legs to pleasure her . . . only to find her slick in a way that had nothing to do with water.

A groan tore out of him as he broke the kiss to look down, watch his fingers move on her, in her. She clenched around his finger, her hands tight on his head when he bent to suck one dark pink nipple into his mouth.

He could feast on her for days, months, years . . . forever.

Shoving aside the need in his heart and all that it implied, he worked another finger into her. She wrenched up his head. “Enough.” Chest heaving, she kissed him again, all tongue and demand. “I would have you now, Titus.”

He could no more deny her than he could suddenly become a quiet man. Moving backward and out of the water, he sat down on the wide ledge of his bath, with her seated on him, and then he let Sharine take him. He, a warrior archangel who’d never allowed anyone to have him, allowed her whatever it was she wished. She was incredibly tight and at one point, he gripped her at the waist to slow her descent.

“No pain, Shari.” It came out ragged, the pulsing heat of her clenching on the top half of his cock scrambling his mind. “I’ll never cause you pain.”

“I’m just”—a breath—“a little”—another breath—“out of practice.” Pushing away his hands, she put her own on his shoulders and sank home with a soft cry that almost made him lose his seed then and there.

Muscles quivering—he, Titus, quivering—he held motionless as a hunting lion as she adjusted to his length and girth. Her core spasmed around him. It tore a primal and aggressive sound out of him, but Sharine didn’t scare. She slid her hands up his chest as she leaned in to kiss the center of his Cascade tattoo.

He swore the gold of it pulsed.

“You’re perfection in how you’re built,” she said to him. “But more, you have a courage and a heart that beguile me.”

He wanted to preen at the caress of words, but he had his teeth clenched in an effort to find a small measure of control. Cupping her ass, he squeezed, then slid his hands up to cup her breasts, play with her nipples. The champagne of her eyes grew cloudy, her body starting to move on his.

Bending his mouth to her throat, he covered one taut breast with his palm at the same time. His breath was hot against her skin as he said, “I want to devour you in a million ways.” Lick and suck and taste and keep. “I want to make it impossible for you to ever forget Titus, Archangel of Africa.” Raw words spoken so roughly she couldn’t have understood them.

“Titus, Titus, Titus.” Hot little breaths against him, her body moving out of rhythm.

Sweat rolled down his temples, his control ragged and prone to fracturing. Wrapping her up in his arms and in his wings, he took her mouth in a rampantly possessive kiss as she pressed her palms to his chest and pulsed so hard around him that it was the final straw.

One hand on her sweet lower curves, he thrust into her in a rhythm that she reciprocated with a fury, no delicacy or ethereal distance to her. Perspiration dotted her skin, and sexual fire burned in her eyes. She was earthy and real and beautiful beyond compare. When she sighed his name again as her pleasure overcame her in waves that rocked her entire body, he broke into a thousand pieces that only she could put back together.

Titus, Archangel of Africa, had given his heart to Sharine, once the Hummingbird.