Archangel's Light (Guild Hunter #14)(28)

Lijuan had, however, decimated China’s Guild.

Many had left prior to the final annihilation, pulled out by the worldwide leadership of their organization when it became clear that Lijuan was no longer paying any mind to the risks to hunters in the tasks being handed to them. Many, however, had stayed.

“To leave would’ve been to abandon the entire population to vampires gone bloodborn,” Elena had said when they’d spoken on the subject. “Hunters can be mercenary, no doubt about it, but most of us are driven to do what we do—especially the hunter-born. We want to protect mortals and weaker vampires. We want to hold the line.”

The end result of it all was that there were no living hunters of the Guild currently in China. Though the Guild had reviewed its stance against China after Lijuan’s death, there’d been no need for hunters in the immediate aftermath of the war—China’d had no real vampire problem, while other territories had been overrun by bloodborn. As if with the end of war had come a blood madness.

Add in the fact that Lijuan had siphoned all other trained humans into her army, and the vast majority of China’s surviving mortals were considered vulnerable. Prey to the toxic patches in the landscape as well as to animals emboldened by the dearth of a sprawling civilization. Tigers prowled abandoned cities and wolves howled in the night.

“Illium! Over here!”

He looked up to see wings of wild blue against the night sky, Illium diving in to assist a squadron as they finalized the balancing of another sling—which was currently swinging wildly. Moving quicker than any other angel Aodhan had ever met, Illium switched sides, spiraled up, and fixed the strap that was causing the problem.

Aodhan’s best friend had always been that: quick, dazzling, overwhelming in his drive and goals.

Aodhan hadn’t cared about that for a long time, content to be in his shadow. But things had changed.





16



Yesterday

Sharine was painting a meadow scene while the two boys played through the flowers, their laughter keeping her company, when she became aware of a sudden quiet. Mother’s instincts on alert at once, she looked around her canvas.

Illium was seated in among the bluebells, his wings a carpet of an even more vibrant blue. He was watching what was probably a bug. He was of an age to be fascinated by them—but he never hurt them, not ever.

Aodhan, however . . . was right beside her.

Hand pressed to her heart, she glanced down at the little boy who’d become as dear to her as her own son in a very short time. “What is it, little one?”

Aodhan pointed with a soft child’s finger at her canvas.

Sharine smiled. “Yes, I’m painting.” Then, because she’d seen his interest other times, she picked up one of the sheets of rough handmade paper that she’d brought with her for this very reason and attached it to a thin wooden board using the device Naasir had made for her. A clip of sorts that worked with a string tie.

Her Illium would be surprised to learn that Naasir had climbed onto her roof long before Illium attempted it. He’d been so nimble as a babe that she’d known she’d never catch him, so she’d coaxed him down with his favorite treat of dried meat strips.

He still came to visit her at times. And he brought her gifts like this clip. Naasir had a very clever mind.

“Sit here,” she told Aodhan, and the gentle-natured boy sat down in the flowers next to her. “This is your canvas.” She put the flat “easel” in front of him. “And this is your brush.”

The smallest brush she’d brought along proved too large for his tiny hand, but that wouldn’t matter. Illium got tired of the “painting game” after a few minutes and ran off to do wild little boy things. No doubt Aodhan would as well once he’d satisfied his curiosity about this new thing.

Next, she put a small dab of different paints on a spare old palette.

“Yours,” she said, putting the palette on the ground next to Aodhan, since he didn’t yet have the manual dexterity to hold it in one hand, the paintbrush in the other.

Then, those extraordinary eyes focused on her, she showed him how to dip his brush in the paint, how to put that paint onto canvas—or in his case, paper. He watched with care, then copied her with equal care.

He was far gentler with the brush and paints than Illium. As she watched, he put a dab of blue on his paper, then looked out at Illium and frowned before speaking. “Not blue.”

“Yes, that’s blue.” Sharine frowned inwardly, surprised he was uncertain of his colors at this age. “Beside it is red, and—”

“Not blue,” Aodhan insisted, and when she looked at him in confusion, he pointed his paintbrush.

Right at Illium.

Oh.

“I see,” she murmured softly. “You want to make the blue of Illium’s wings?”

At Aodhan’s strong nod, Sharine showed him how to mix the colors to get different tones and shades. After she was done, she dabbed a new blue on the paper. “How’s this?” It was the exact shade she used when she painted the base color of her son’s wings; Aodhan was too young yet to learn about layering.

A huge smile. “Blue,” he said happily, and began to paint.

His creation ended up a huge blobby mess, but she could see what he’d been trying to do. He’d gotten the proportions of Illium’s body correct as compared to his wings, and he’d even managed to make a passing facsimile of flowers. Not only that, he’d made a different color on his own, melding blue and yellow to create green.