Archangel's Light (Guild Hunter #14)(49)

His mind went to earlier that day, to the moment he’d witnessed Suyin make contact with Aodhan’s skin. He hadn’t meant to see it, hadn’t been spying; he’d been on his way to talk to General Arzaleya when he’d overflown the spot where Suyin and Aodhan stood talking.

The touch had been nothing much. A mere brush of her fingers across his forearm, but Illium knew Aodhan. He could read his physical comfort. Aodhan had been fine with that touch. It hadn’t been unwanted.

Illium was glad his friend was increasing the circle of people with whom he was comfortable when it came to touch, but he was also jealous. It made his cheeks heat to even think that.

What the hell kind of friend was he to be resentful of Aodhan healing?

He shook his head in furious denial. No, that wasn’t it. He loved that Aodhan was healing. He wouldn’t mind if Aodhan touched Jae or Xan or General Arzaleya or literally any other person in this entire territory.

It was Suyin.

Kind, artistic, powerful Suyin who was the perfect match for Aodhan’s own strong, kind, artist’s soul. The last time Illium had spoken to his mother, she’d told him that Aodhan and Suyin sketched together at times.

“I think she feels guilty for taking even an hour for herself,” his mother had said. “But I’ve told Aodhan he must make sure she does take it. It’s critical—she’s had little time to adjust to her new circumstances, needs to stabilize and nourish herself in the way that means the most to her—through creating.”

Illium understood all of that, but the idea of Aodhan and Suyin sitting companionably together while they created, it made him grit his teeth. Aodhan hated people in his space when he worked. Usually, he only allowed Illium or Illium’s mother into his studio. Illium had spent many an hour quietly cleaning both their weapons while Aodhan painted.

It was their thing.

“Now I sound like a jealous fuck even to myself,” he muttered under his breath.

And that was when he saw it. “Aodhan.”

A rustle of wings, and then Aodhan joined him in the kitchen of the small home. It was impossible for their wings not to touch in the compact area, and Illium bore the contact with a clenched abdomen and tight tendons. “Look.” He pointed to the small pool of rust-brown below one of the three chairs that bracketed the round table. “That seem like blood to you?”

Aodhan crouched down, his wings folded in and confined by the wall at their back. “Yes. But it’s too old for any kind of scent. We’d need to get a scientific analysis.”

“Yeah, I know. It could as easily be spaghetti sauce.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m jumpy. Sorry.”

Aodhan rose, his wing brushing over Illium’s arm and chest. Unable to stand it, his eyes hot in a way that made him feel stupid, Illium stepped out of the room and continued to explore the home. Neat, lived-in, normal. No signs of struggle or violence.

Next house over and it was his turn to keep watch. He did so in silence.

The kitten stood three feet away, staring at him out of bright blue eyes. He raised his eyebrows. “Meow?”

She skittered back.

Great, now even tiny helpless creatures were pulling away from him. Scowling and feeling sorry for himself, he folded his arms and turned to the right. Washing hung lank and brown on the line of the house next door. He frowned, took a step toward it. There was something . . .

“Aodhan, I’m just moving a few feet away to look next door.”

“I’m done here anyway,” Aodhan said, exiting the house. “What did you see?”

“I’m not sure . . .” Walking over, with Aodhan by his side, and the kitten padding along a little farther back, he saw that the piece of washing was stiff and marked by bird droppings. “Oh, it’s leather,” he said. “That explains—Fuck!”





28


Illium wrenched back his hand before his fingers could brush over the skin.

Because that’s what it was. And not an animal skin.

Not an angel, either, because there were no marks or holes where wings grew out of an angel’s back. Mortal or vampire, then. A fly buzzed over to sit on the skin. That there were no other insects on or around it told him the skin had been hanging there long enough to dry out, lose its smell. Would that happen naturally? Or had someone prepared it?

He swallowed repeatedly.

“Now we know.” Aodhan’s voice, his tone even but his face expressionless. “Something bad did happen to this settlement, and to its people.”

Having managed to get his nausea under control, Illium moved around the line to look at it from the other side. It was no less horrific from that side. “I can see why Vetra didn’t notice.” From above, she’d have seen what he originally had—an old brown shirt on the line.

Aodhan, who’d stepped toward the house, said, “There’s more here.” He shook his head when Illium went to join him. “No, Blue, you don’t want to see this.”

Blue.

A nickname so old that only Aodhan used it, and that rarely. Almost everyone else used Bluebell, a moniker he’d picked up later in life.

Illium froze, caught by the solemnity of his friend’s voice. “What is it?”

“Stacks of skins,” Aodhan told him. “Cured and neatly folded up into piles.”