Archangel's Enigma (Guild Hunter)(73)

Hand closing over her nape, he nipped at her lower lip. “You are mine.” Words that didn’t sound wholly human.

“Naasir.” A whispered plea.

He tumbled her against him as he leaned his back on a tree trunk. Then he . . . petted her. Long lazy strokes of his hand over her wings, his fingers through the hair he’d pulled out of its braid.

She slept with her head against his shoulder and his arm around her below her wings. She’d never slept with anyone before—even as a child, she’d always slept alone. Feeling him warm and strong against her, his heart beating steadily, it gave her a sense of safety that dropped her into a deep, dreamless rest.

She could’ve kept on sleeping, snuggled up to him, but she’d set her body clock to wake after two hours. Naasir nuzzled at her when she lifted her lashes, the scent of him primal and sensual and familiar. “Sleep,” he said. “We have another ninety minutes to two hours, depending on the villagers’ habits, before the night is deep enough that we can get to the caves unobserved.”

Running her fingers through his hair, she shook her head. “It’s your turn to rest and don’t argue—we both have to be at full strength if we’re going to find Alexander.”

He growled at her as the trees rustled in a sudden wind. She wanted to kiss him. Sitting up and taking position against a tree trunk, she tugged him to her. “Sleep.”

His chest still rumbled, but he stretched out in his favorite position, his head in her lap, and closed his eyes. Quickly rebraiding her hair so she’d be ready to move when it was time, she kept watch, listening to the muted sounds of the last of the villagers going to sleep. More often than not, she petted his hair the way he liked, and just drank him in, determined to remember every tiny detail of their time together.

It was about forty minutes after everything went silent, the moon a spotlight in the sky, that she heard it. A low buzz that seemed to be getting closer. “Naasir.”

His eyelids flicked up; he was on his haunches before she saw him move, his head turned toward the sound. “We have to run.” Taking her hand, he hauled her up.

And they ran.

“Should I fly?” she gasped, her chest straining at the speed. “You’d be faster on the ground.”

He shook his head, the silver of his hair flying. “They’re in the air.”

Swallowing, she wanted to go for the sword she hadn’t removed even in sleep, but had a feeling that wouldn’t help. Not with this. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw a deeper darkness against the sky. Memories of the recordings she’d seen of the Falling rolled over her—thousands of birds had fallen to the earth before the angels started to plummet. “Charisemnon.”

Her left wing caught on a trailing branch. Biting back a cry of pain as she tore it free, she continued to run but the buzzing was getting closer and closer with every heartbeat.

Not birds. Bugs. Locusts? Bees?

Naasir halted without warning, looked back. “Not enough time to get to shelter.” Dropping her hand, he went to the ground and, using his claws, began to dig up the arid soil.

Andromeda began to dig beside him, all but able to feel the insects on her back. In normal circumstances, bugs might make her skin crawl, but they couldn’t hurt her or Naasir. However, if this was Charisemnon’s doing, these weren’t normal bugs. The tiny creatures might be infected with the same disease that had taken down New York’s angels.

The angels had been hurt because they fell from the sky onto the unforgiving city below, but the disease had killed vampires—and Naasir had vampiric characteristics. Even if she was safe, he wasn’t.

She dug hard enough that her nails broke.

Sweat dripping down his temples, Naasir glanced back. “In.” Grabbing her arm, he all but threw her in the hole. “Facedown!”

Andromeda went to tell him he was the more vulnerable one, but knew she didn’t have time to argue. The faster she went in, the faster he could get to safety, too—because she knew he wouldn’t do anything for himself until she was protected. That in mind, she obeyed his order, cupping her hands in front of her mouth and nose to create an air pocket—more for her own psychological need than because it was necessary.

Even extended lack of air wouldn’t kill her, but it could leave her unconscious for hours or even days—in which time, anyone could cut off her head, dig out her heart and brain.

“Don’t be afraid.” That was her only warning before Naasir began to shove the soil back on her.

Being buried alive, her wings under the earth, was a terror, but she lay motionless and willed him to go faster. Her fear for him was viscous in her veins.

Then she was completely buried, the world hushed but for the roar of blood in her ears. A muted buzz surrounded her what felt like a heartbeat later. Panic stuttered in her lungs. Where was Naasir? Was he safe? Heart punching so violently it was painful, she listened as hard as she could, but all she could hear was the buzzing, as if the insects were right on top of her, determined to burrow through the soil.

But Naasir had spent precious time covering her up and the bugs finally seemed to give up. Though her heart screamed at her to get out, find him, she forced herself to stay under for ten more minutes; she would not cheapen his sacrifice by making herself a target.

When she did stir, she did so slowly. But the insects were gone, no buzzing in the air. Shaking off the soil that covered her, she rubbed away the dust on her face and looked for any sign of Naasir.