Archangel's Enigma (Guild Hunter)(75)

She turned her head away after a few pieces of the cured meat. “Salty.”

He hauled her back with a grip on her jaw, his fingers clawed. “Eat this or I’ll hunt and make you eat raw meat.”

She scowled at him but ate the jerky—there was a grimness on his face that told her he was dead serious. Waiting until he saw she was doing as ordered, he went and got some water from the lake, then dropped a cleansing tablet in it.

“We don’t need that,” she muttered as the water cleared, sick of jerky.

“It’ll taste better.” Helping her to sit braced against him, he brought the bottle to her lips and she drank. “Eat the rest.”

She ate it, slowly able to feel her mind start to clear much as the water had done after he dropped in the tablet. When he handed her a fistful of high-energy candy, she ate that, too, drank more water. “Enough,” she said. “I’m feeling better.”

Coming around to face her, he stared at her for a long time before nodding. Then he picked up her wrist and licked over the bite marks and grazed skin to seal the wound. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said afterward, tone harsh.

She rolled her eyes, fingers curling gently into her palm. “I should’ve let you drown?”

“Vampires can’t drown.”

“Are you sure?” She didn’t know if the theory had ever been tested with long-term immersion. “And you’re not a vampire.”

He brushed the pad of his thumb over the bite bruise, his fangs flashing as he bared his teeth at her. “You almost drowned yourself.”

“Do you know the words ‘thank you’?”

A growl rumbled in his chest . . . but then he bent his head and pressed a soft and sweetly unexpected kiss on the bruise.

Her heart skipped a beat, fell right into his hands. “You’re welcome,” she whispered, and when he lifted his head, hugged him tight. “I was so afraid for you.”

His arms came around her, his jaw nuzzling against her temple in a caress that was becoming intimately familiar. “I moved too fast because the bugs were almost on me.” A squeeze. “We’re both wet.”

“At least we have dry clothes this time.” No replacement leathers for her, but gear just as tough and durable.

They held on to each other for a long time before separating to dress after Naasir went and retrieved the second pack. “I hid our trails, too,” he told her once they were both in dry clothes. “Buried your broken feathers.” His eyebrows drew together. “How hurt are you?”

“Already healing—it hurt at the time, but the damage wasn’t major.” Leaving her still-braided hair as it was, Andromeda went to where the water had trapped the dead bugs against the rocks.

About to pick one up, she decided not to risk touching it with her fingers. Instead, she found two sticks and, while Naasir watched from a crouching position across from her, she used the sticks like chopsticks to pick up the insect.

It had a locust-like body and was a yellowish shade with faint blue-green markings—according to Naasir, since her own color perception was skewed by the moonlight. What she could see was that its wings were silver, a glittering shade as bright as Naasir’s eyes and hair. And those wings looked as if they were formed of thin, thin, pieces of metal.

“Not Charisemnon,” she whispered, feeling her eyes go huge.

“Alexander?”

She nodded slowly after checking the other winged bodies she could see. All had the same metal wings. More than one was crumpled from the impact against the rocks, making their composition even clearer. “It must be some kind of a defense mechanism to drive off the too-curious.”

“We said his name.” Naasir peered at the bug she held between the sticks. “He heard.”

It made sense. Alexander had been a master tactician after all. “If he is listening,” she said, having to fight not to whisper, “I don’t think it’s conscious. We talked about Lijuan’s plans during our walk in, about how we wanted to stop her, yet the defenses activated.”

“They may be driven by a primal part of the brain.”

“So more defenses could activate without warning.” She put three of the bugs in a small plastic bag that had held trail mix. “I hope they survive the trip. I want to show Jessamy.”

Naasir watched her store the insects in an inner pocket. “There is a silver lining to this.”

Seeing his laughing eyes, she knew the pun had been intentional. “Yes?”

“We’re definitely in the right place.”

Andromeda’s breath whooshed out of her; she’d been so focused on the minutiae that she’d missed the larger picture. “Yes.” She swallowed. “Should we tell Raphael?” If Alexander Slept below lava—whether true lava or molten metal—only another archangel could get to him.

Nodding, Naasir took out the phone he’d stored in the front pocket of one of the packs—he hadn’t wanted to risk losing it as he had his other phone during their escape from Lijuan’s citadel. She was almost expecting his harsh imprecation.

“It doesn’t work, does it?”

“It should work anywhere.” Naasir pressed something on the screen, tried again. “Dead.”

“Alexander’s done something.” She thought of the lack of photographs of Amanat, of Caliane’s sheer power. “It may not be on purpose.”