Archangel's Light (Guild Hunter #14)(7)

Then he shut the door in Aodhan’s face.



* * *




*

Illium collapsed with his back against the closed door, his heart thumping like a metronome on speed and sweat breaking out along his spine. It felt as if his skin was about to burst, his muscles so tense they were going to pop.

To see Aodhan after so long and not touch him?

It was agony.

But something in Illium had snapped over the past few months. He’d taken heed of his mother’s advice and supported Aodhan while his friend was in this place far from home. Hell, not taking care of Aodhan was harder for him than otherwise. He’d been watching over him for centuries.

But there had to be active participation for a friendship to continue.

And while Aodhan always responded with thanks to any care packages Illium sent, and replied to his messages, their conversations had been stilted, forced. Aodhan had only once reached out to Illium on his own. That had been when Illium’s mother got together with Titus.

Aodhan had wanted to check in, see how he was doing with the news.

A whole year, and he’d been worth the effort of reaching out to a single measly time? Enough. Illium was done with this. He knew Aodhan as no one else did. His friend was a warrior who’d stand his ground against any enemy, but he’d never been a confrontational person when it came to his personal life.

Aodhan’s response to emotional pain was to withdraw.

Illium had watched him do that two hundred years ago, Aodhan’s spirit more badly shattered than his brutalized body, and Illium had never given up. He’d known Aodhan needed him to persevere, needed his help to haul himself out of his personal hell.

But now? When he knew Aodhan did call Ellie to talk, that he stayed in regular touch with Illium’s mother, and with others in the Tower?

Illium had received the message.

Normally, he wasn’t one to assume anything. Illium’s way was to ask the question to people’s faces. He and Aodhan, they’d never not spoken about things . . . except for the one terrible act that had forever marked Aodhan. About that, he spoke to no one. Not even Illium.

Perhaps that had been the first sign that Illium shouldn’t have ignored.

But even a man who always asked questions, always confronted life head-on couldn’t be expected to put himself out there without any shields when he had been so quietly and thoroughly rebuffed.

There was no need for questions or conversations.

The best course of action was collegial distance. The last thing he ever wanted to do was make Aodhan feel obligated to stay his friend—or worse, to make him feel coerced, caged. The thought of it was a physical blow that made him want to curl over his stomach.

Forcing himself to move away from the door, he took off his pack and threw it on a flimsy-looking white chair with curved legs and a velvet seat cushion, then headed straight through a door he assumed led to the bathing chamber.

He was right.

Ignoring the empty and cold bath, he stripped, then stepped into the baroque shower with its ornate gold showerheads. The tiles were pink marble, the abandoned shower brush fluffy white with a pink handle. A laugh bubbled out of him at the ridiculousness of it all, but it was a laugh without humor.

At least the shower area was open, clearly designed so it could be utilized by angels as well as vampires and mortals. Or perhaps it had been meant for orgies. There were multiple showerheads from every direction. He turned them all on, then stood there under the pounding spray.

He had to get a handle on his responses.

His and Aodhan’s friendship might be dead and buried, but Aodhan was still one of the Seven, and Raphael had sent Illium to support him—including in his decision about becoming Suyin’s second, no matter if that decision led to him leaving the Tower.

Illium would not fall down in that task, would back Aodhan every step of the way. When it came to their lost friendship . . . time would fix the bleeding wound inside him. It might take an eon, but it would.

His shoulders knotted, his jaw clenching hard enough to hurt as water pummeled his bare skin. He. Was. Done.





5



Yesterday

Sharine’s heart bloomed at seeing Aegaeon bend down to grab their son, who was toddling toward him as fast as his little legs could carry. He was a big man, Aegaeon, with wide shoulders and muscled arms, his hair a vivid blue-green and his eyes the same vibrant shade.

His wings were a darker green interrupted by streaks of wild blue.

It was from his father that Illium had inherited the blue that tipped his hair. The same blue had begun to color the fluffy yellow-white of his baby feathers.

Now, Illium laughed in delight as his father picked him up and swung him around. Aegaeon laughed, too, open in his pride in his son, and in his happiness at being with him.

Sharine knew Aegaeon didn’t love her, not in the way that Raan had loved her. Aegaeon kept a harem at his court. He had lovers aplenty. But Sharine was content. Because he’d given her Illium, the greatest joy of her life. And he loved Illium. That was what mattered.

They’d already spoken about when Illium grew older and could be taken to Aegaeon’s court for visits. Sharine would go with him, of course. That had never been in question. Aegaeon was a good father, but he didn’t know how to look after a rambunctious little boy—he’d admitted that himself.

She hated the court, but Aegaeon had promised her that she and Illium would have an entire wing away from the venomous menagerie of his harem. “Even should your paths cross, they won’t dare touch you, whether by voice or by act,” Aegaeon had promised. “You are the mother of my son.”