Archangel's Light (Guild Hunter #14)(98)

Not that he’d say that aloud. All those scouting runs alone? They’d given him time to think about everything Aodhan had said to him—especially when it came to that first big fight in Elena and Raphael’s Enclave home. Hard as it was for him to admit, he had jumped down Aodhan’s throat that night.

He’d never have reacted the same way had it been any other member of the Seven. The fear and rage he’d felt when Aodhan was taken, the agony of the aftermath, none of it gave him the right to treat Aodhan as . . . less.

His gorge roiled.

He’d never, not once, thought of Aodhan that way, but you’d never know it from his overprotective hovering. No wonder his best friend had been so angry with him. Aodhan had apologized for using Illium as a target for his anger, but Illium had apologies to make, too, and he would as soon as Aodhan had a free moment.

To distract himself for the time being—and because he was sweaty and filthy after the long day—he made his way a short distance from the camp and to a small but deep lake that hadn’t frozen over, most likely due to underground geothermal vents. While those vents had kept the water liquid, they hadn’t appreciably warmed it up.

Still, it had been cleared as safe, and angels were built for the cold. Everyone else was making do with wipes, or by warming up enough water for a rubdown in the privacy of their snow-resistant shelters.

The angels who’d decided to take advantage of the lake did so fully clothed. This wasn’t the time or the place to be caught with your pants down. Illium did take off his boots and stash them in a tree, but—if need be—he could fly and fight bootless.

That done, he shot up high into the sky before arrowing down to the lake. He didn’t splash as he went in, his body an aerodynamic blade that sliced deep, deep into the dark depths. The icy chill was welcome, its quiet embrace equally so.

He was feeling as good as his troubling thoughts would let him when he broke the surface and sleeked back his wet hair. Another angel swam lazily over from a short distance away. Anaya, that was her name. Her golden hair had gone dark in the water, her curvy body hidden beneath, and her face awash with admiration.

“Nice dive,” she murmured, a look in her eye that he could read all too well.

“Thanks.” He’d intended to do another dive, maybe swim, but now said, “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m under strict orders to eat and sleep.”

No insult in her expression at his rejection of her silent offer. “To be honest, I should do the same. But if you want to play when we’re not so stressed . . .”

Illium’s usual response to such invitations was a grin and a nod. He never made promises he didn’t intend to keep, but he also hated to hurt others when they’d made themselves vulnerable to him in such a way.

Today, however, he said, “Lovely as you are, Anaya, I find I’m no longer in the market for casual romps.” A truth; he hadn’t been compelled to share his sheets with anyone for some time. It just . . . didn’t feel right.

Anaya sighed. “Pretty and faithful.” Her smile said he was forgiven for not accepting her offer. “I hope your lover appreciates you.”

Parting from her on a friendly wave without correcting her misapprehension, he swam to shore to shake out his wings. Once out, he didn’t linger. He didn’t want to linger.

Not here.

After he’d retrieved and put on his boots, he flew back through a clear sky, his wet clothing ice in the winter cold. He still wasn’t sorry about the dip. He’d needed it. Quick change into his alternate set of clothing and he’d be fine.

He caught the lights of the camp well before he reached it. More, he caught the sparkle of Aodhan. His best friend sat alone beside a firepit, his seat what looked to be a fallen log, and his brow furrowed as he stared at his phone. Lips curving, Illium arrowed away from the firepit to land near the tent that held the supplies of angels who hadn’t yet put up a shelter for the night.

It took him only a couple of minutes to change—into jeans and a sweater of fine black wool designed to fit around his wings thanks to four sleek black zips. He had another set of leathers, but what the hell, the softer fabrics felt good on his skin right now—and the sweater was one of his favorites.

Dressed, he deposited his wet gear with the laundry team; they’d ensure it dried as they traveled—the trucks had been fitted with rooftop racks for just this purpose. Then he hit the small tent that held the food supplies for this quarter of the caravan. The vampire on duty handed him two warm buns filled with spiced meat.

“Seriously?” Illium said, his mouth already watering. “We’re cooking on the road?”

“You don’t know my great-great-great-great-great-grandchild,” the grumpy old vampire muttered, his mustache so big and fluffy that it was its own continent. “She’s not about to have a cold dinner when she can whip this up. Just be grateful I saved a few for the latecomers.”

“I’ll kiss her when I see her next.”

“She’ll paddle your behind for daring.”

Laughing, Illium accepted the buns, several protein bars, and two bottles of water, then somehow managed to carry it all to Aodhan.

Who was now full-on scowling at his phone.





48


“What?” Illium said. “An astronomical rise in the price of ultramarine blue?” He knew full well that was one of the hues Aodhan and his mother used when painting his wings. He even knew the two still, at times, made it the old way—from crushed lapis lazuli.