Archangel's Light (Guild Hunter #14)(77)

No response, but though no one was holding him now, the boy didn’t move.

“You start twisting while in the air, we land and walk the rest of the way.”

Nothing, the boy a sculpture with hair of moonlight. Deciding there was only one way to find out what would happen, Aodhan bent and scooped the child into his arms, one arm under his knees, the other behind his back. He’s not as light as he looks. Nothing of a weight to trouble Aodhan, but worth noting. He’s eaten enough not to starve.

Illium shook his head in a firm negative, refuting Aodhan’s implication about the child’s presence in the hamlet. Aodhan wished he could be as certain. But he knew how madness slid into your brain in the cold dark. He wasn’t sure he’d be sane today if he’d spent even a day longer in that iron coffin.

This boy had grown up inside just such a coffin, for all that his had been a room.

Flaring out his wings, Aodhan looked down at the boy. Those strikingly familiar eyes flicked to him before jerking away. Unable to feel anything but a protective sympathy, Aodhan left his questions aside and took flight into the falling snow.

The boy went rigid in his arms.

Aodhan made sure his grip was secure, then flew on at a far slower pace than that of which he was capable; if this child born with wings had never touched the sky, then this was a wonder for him, and Aodhan would not cut it short.

Wild blue below him, Illium silent about his leisurely pace.

That heart of his. Rescuing kittens, befriending mortals . . . protecting Aodhan.

At times, Aodhan wondered how Illium could survive immortality with such a vulnerable heart. At the same time, he knew that very heart was why Illium would always be the best friend he’d ever have. To the people he loved, Bluebell gave everything. Too much. Until there was nothing left for himself. Honestly, the man needed a keeper, one willing to put Illium first.

A small sharp sound from the boy, but when Aodhan looked down, it was to see no panic on his thin face, only a twisted kind of pain entwined with wonder. Aodhan understood, spoke to assuage his agony.

“Angelic wings can recover even after being fully removed.” From all outward appearances, the boy didn’t have a congenital issue, as with Jessamy. His wings were simply weak from lack of use, and clipped. Aodhan had seen the scars on the wingtips that indicated a partial amputation, the removal of all hope of flight.

The boy met his gaze, pearl-gray eyes flat and distrustful.

“Illium—the blue-winged angel below—lost his wings in battle not long ago. I have images of him without wings.” Aodhan would’ve hated those images, hated the idea of his Bluebell being grounded, had Illium not been posing in a flamboyant cape and matching top hat, a glittering walking stick in hand.

The pictures had made Aodhan grin even when he’d been furious at Illium. In those photos, he’d seen more courage than most would ever understand. Not only had Illium been recovering from grievous wounds at the time, he’d been reeling from the reappearance of his asshole of a father. And still, he’d refused to be anyone but Illium.

Wild, open of heart, and quick of wit.

Snow fell on the boy’s face, but he didn’t brush off the flakes, his eyes trained on Aodhan. It reminded Aodhan of how young Sameon, one of the little angels at the Refuge, looked at him at times. With the rapt attention of a child being told a tale.

So Aodhan kept on speaking.

“You’re hundreds of years younger than Illium. As a result, your recovery will take longer.” False hope could be more damaging than harsh truth. At the start of his captivity, Aodhan had clung to the hope that he could build up his strength and escape. Then his captors had brutalized him. Again and again.

It had broken a piece of him in the end.

“You’ll also have to build up your strength in the aftermath,” he said. “Even Illium had to do that,” he pointed out as they overflew the hamlet.

The boy’s head twisted without warning, his gaze trained downward. Small, mewling sounds erupted from his throat, one hand trying to reach downward.

A chill breath on Aodhan’s neck. Illium, do you see what he’s doing?

The blue-winged angel looked up, a dusting of snow on his hair and lashes. Shit. He knows the settlement and he wants what’s down there.

Stomach churning, Aodhan flew on. In his arms, the boy twisted to stare back at the settlement until the curtain of snow blanked it from view. Small, heartbreaking sounds of loss escaped his mouth—sounds that were eerie and unsettling, given for what he seemed to mourn.

The lights of the stronghold came into focus right as the snow picked up in ferocity; he saw movement in the east wing, efficient silhouettes against the windows. I’ve told Li Wei to keep her people in the east wing and make sure the kitten remains with them.

He landed, keeping his wings outstretched to protect the boy from the heavy precipitation. Li Wei says Kai was in the kitchen preparing food for us. I’ve told her she can remain, but that she is not to leave the area until we give her the all-clear. It won’t be difficult to keep the child away from her.

He’d expected a strong reaction from Illium on the subject of Kai’s safety, but, shoving his snow-dusted hair back from his face, Illium just nodded. His attention was on the child.

Who screamed and began to twist and claw for freedom the instant Aodhan stepped inside the walls of the stronghold. Crushing him tight to his own body, Aodhan walked quickly into the spacious, high-ceilinged living space that Suyin had used to gather with her people.