Archangel's Light (Guild Hunter #14)(100)

A sudden panic had him rubbing his hands on his thighs. “We can make a deal to forget it.” It had nothing to do with the fact they were both male—angels were not like the majority of mortals. Their kind lived far too long to see sexuality as an inflexible construct. Angels knew that growth was infinite.

It might hold linear for some, split off into different dimensions for others.

No, his panic had to do with the fact his friendship with Aodhan was vital to an eternity lived in joy. “If you want, I can bleach my brain, no problem.”

Aodhan was starfire in the light from the flames, his smile a startled sunrise. “No,” he said. “Don’t apologize and don’t forget.” Then he cupped the back of Illium’s neck again in a way that was so familiar and so welcome, and pressed his cheek to Illium’s . . . before bending his head and pressing a kiss to the curve of Illium’s neck.

A shiver rocked Illium’s body, his hands clutching at Aodhan’s hips. Everything inside him felt curled up tight, on the verge of flying apart.

Rubbing his cheek against Illium’s, Aodhan squeezed his nape. “You’re so tired, Blue.” Then he stepped back, brushing his knuckles over the line of Illium’s jaw. “Rest. We’ll figure this out later.”

And because he was tired, and he knew these minutes seated with him might be the only rest Aodhan got that night, Illium lay down on the bedroll with his back to the fire and his wings wrapped around himself. The blanket Aodhan opened out over him was a bonus. He’d slept in far worse places, so it didn’t take him long to fall into a deep sleep, despite the nerves twisting him up.

Sparkles of light fluttered over his irises, followed him into the welcome dark. He was on the precipice of dreams when he thought he heard Aodhan murmur, “Does she walk in your dreams, Blue? Is she our phantom third?”





49


There wasn’t much time to talk in the grueling days that followed, but Aodhan was always aware of Illium—and he worried constantly about him. “Don’t go so far out of range,” he snapped one day. “We can’t help you if you’ve flown so far ahead that none of the other scouts can keep you in sight.”

“What’s crawled up your butt?” Illium muttered, shoving back his hair.

“I’m serious, Illium.” He wanted to shake the other man. “Stay within range of the others.” As protective as Illium was of others, he had the tendency to take risks when it came to his own safety.

A quick—irritated—salute before Illium took off, but when night fell and they made camp, it was beside Aodhan that he landed. And when Aodhan finally had to sleep, it was Illium who watched over him. When Aodhan snapped at Illium for shoving food into his hand, Illium snapped back, pointing out that Aodhan couldn’t do his job if he was “falling flat on his face.”

Tired and worried about the increasing eruptions of black fog in their way, along with several toxic patches that had formed in the short time since Vetra overflew the route, Aodhan muttered something under his breath about “Bluebells with a savior complex.”

Illium’s eyes narrowed, but rather than snapping back, he said, “You’re exhausted.” He pointed to the bedrolls he’d already spread out under the thick branches of a tree that had sheltered the ground from a buildup of snow. That this tree and its brethren had taken root in the stony ground they’d chosen for their campsite was a testament to the power of nature.

“Sleep, or you’ll be useless,” Illium added. “Then I’ll have to take over, and the next thing you know, we’ll all be wearing glittering capes and dancing to Elvis songs.” A sigh. “Man, I really wish he’d been compatible for vampirism.”

Aodhan was still irritated, but now he was irritated at how well Illium was handling his haywire emotions. “Stop managing me.”

Literally throwing up his hands, Illium said, “Fine. I’m going over there.” He pointed to the far side of the site. “Nowhere near your sparklehole vicinity.”

But as Illium went to walk away, Aodhan found himself saying, “Don’t go.” He slumped down with his back to the tree and closed his eyes right afterward, so he wouldn’t have to meet Illium’s gaze—he knew he was behaving atrociously.

A sigh, then the rustle of a familiar pair of wings nearby, Illium’s shoulder brushing his as he sat on the bedroll beside his. Maybe others couldn’t tell wing sounds apart, but Aodhan had long ago learned to pinpoint several of the most important people in his life. Illium was at the top of the list.

“I’m doing it again,” Aodhan said, angry with himself. “Using you as a target.”

“No, you’re not. You always get short-tempered when you’re critically low on sleep. You mutter and you stomp and you’re kind of adorable—and weird as it is, I’m glad to see that part of you return.”

Aodhan scowled without opening his eyes, his mind rolling back to a past where . . . yes, Illium was right. He’d been this way before the torture and the trauma; this wasn’t a result of Sachieri and Bathar’s evil. This was him and his “one bad trait” according to his own mother.

“He’s the sweetest boy, but he needs his sleep,” he’d overheard her saying to a friend while he was sulking in the corner one day. “It’s the only time he ever acts up—when he’s missed the hours he needs.”