Archangel's Resurrection (Guild Hunter #15)(106)

The idea of harming his grandson was a knife to his heart, but Alexander didn’t hesitate. Zanaya would die to protect that which Alexander loved, as he’d do for her. Her counsel held only care. So he lay his wounded grandson flat on the ground, then began to use the brutal power of an archangel to excise literal chunks of flesh from Xander’s body.

His grandson flinched and moaned but remained unconscious.

A small mercy.

But the boy was silent and cold as death by the time Alexander was done. At least there’d been little to no further blood loss, as Alexander had cauterized the wounds as he went—though the scent of Xander’s flesh burning was a hard thing to bear.

Wrapping him up in his power, Alexander gathered him in his arms. He knew why Antonicus had taken Xander now. Son or grandson, he had to have realized the child was of Alexander’s bloodline—and Alexander was known for his loyalty.

He was also known for his love for Zanaya, she for her love for him.

Find a way to draw one . . . and the other would come, too.

Xander had been both bait . . . and a distraction for Alexander. Zani, the goal was to get to you!

I know! Take Xander to safety! Get him out of here now!

It was the only choice. Xander was badly wounded, needed a healer as fast as possible. Yet to leave his Zani? But he must. Because his consort was an archangel, too, honorable and good and with courage infinite.

Hold on, Zani, he thought as he took flight with Xander in his arms. Hold on.





58


Shoving back the strands of hair that had blown across her face during Alexander’s ascent, Zanaya breathed through her mouth in an effort to filter out the stench that came off Antonicus. He smelled . . . rotten. Not the rot of the earth, musty and rich. But the putrid rot of meat left out too long, until maggots began to wriggle in it, their plump bodies gleaming and wet.

Even as her gorge threatened to rise at the image, she tried to keep Antonicus talking. “Why did you take the stripling?”

“Because you are mine.” Bared teeth. “I knew he’d be with you. Zanaya and Alexander. Alexander and Zanaya.” He said that in a mocking singsong way, then spat at the earth. “I heard it throughout history, but it’s wrong!”

It was difficult to maintain this conversation while also speaking with Alexander, and she had to fight not to betray her relief when her consort told her that his raven showed him the way to Xander.

Please be alive, Xander, she said inside her own head. He has a warrior’s fierce heart but it will break beyond repair if he loses you.

Aloud, she said, “Tell me about your reborn.”

A twisting wrench of his head, his face distorting in ways that should’ve been impossible.

Molten bones.

Melted bones.

She almost took a step back on the rich green of the dew-laden grass, stopped herself just in time. Around them, the forest was as silent as the grave from which Antonicus had come . . . but a white owl with eyes golden sat motionless on a branch of the young kapok tree behind Antonicus.

“I must rise,” he grated out. “I must . . . serve.” Hate in his eyes, but he answered her question as if compelled. “I must be your instrument.”

A cold tendril of understanding wormed its way through Zanaya’s brain. This was why the dead had risen from their graves to come to her. Lijuan, that blackhearted bitch, had made Zanaya just a little like her.

But even Lijuan hadn’t been able to control living archangels.

Her chest heaved, her breath slicing razors in her lungs as she remembered the pulse that was an absence, an echo of what once was . . . and no longer existed. And the smell that clung to him, so noxious and unalive.

Yet surely Antonicus was too rational to be dead, to be reborn. “Are they like you?” she asked. “Your reborn?”

He snorted, his face a ripple of distortion. “In a minor way. Basic speech. Basic thought. They are vectors to spread the glory of you.”

Alexander’s voice blasted into her mind at the same instant, with the joyful news that Xander lived. But along with her happiness came a creeping fear. Burn out every scratch and cut he has on him. I don’t know if Antonicus’s creatures carry the same poison as him, but we can’t risk it. Deeply excising the wounds may stop it from reaching Xander’s bloodstream.

Antonicus leapt at her without warning, his claws bared and eyes red.

Blasting out with angelfire, she blinked as he moved with reptilian speed to avoid the blow. That hadn’t been normal, hadn’t been natural, not for their kind. Now, he crouched opposite her and screamed, “I serve no one! I am an archangel! I am Antonicus!” Curling bolts of power of putrescent green at the tips of his clawed fingers before he shot them her way with a speed that was vicious.

Then Antonicus smiled . . . and vanished.

Shit! Fuck!

The bastard knew Zanaya had no glamour. And those without glamour also couldn’t see through it. Her consort’s voice in her head, a warning about Antonicus’s plans. I know! Take Xander to safety! Get him out of here now! Antonicus would go after Alexander if Zanaya fell, with Xander collateral damage.

A whisper of cold at her nape.

Falling back on the instincts Mivoniel had drilled into her, she dropped, rolled, and came up on her feet some distance away. Then she went airborne at brutal speed, at the same time calling her tempests to pummel the earth and the air.