Archangel's Resurrection (Guild Hunter #15)(74)

She enjoyed recalling the look on his face as he bled all over himself.

The full disrespect of Aegaeon’s transgression was the only thing she’d ever kept from Alexander, and she intended to do so forever. She’d mentioned that Aegaeon had propositioned her so that the big blue ass couldn’t catch Alexander unawares, but she’d made it a joke—and she’d been careful not to say when the proposition had occurred or how insistent Aegaeon had been.

“I swatted him like a fly,” she’d said with deadly honesty when Alexander’s expression began to darken. “He’ll dream of me only in his nightmares.” Then she’d begun to sharpen her favorite blade.

At which point, Alexander’s shoulders had begun to shake. He’d ended up laughing his head off, anger diffused and war no longer a possibility. Because Alexander knew that Zanaya wouldn’t thank him for doing violence on her behalf—but he was also an imperfect being, as were they all. Which was why Zanaya had dealt with it as she had.

Today, she smirked at Aegaeon across the circle, willing him to remember the day she’d separated his wrist from his body. It had been worth the loss of one of her favorite tunics—the spray of his blood wouldn’t wash out.

Zani, why are you antagonizing Aegaeon?

It’s a hobby.

A snort of mental laughter. My apologies. Carry on.

Aegaeon, meanwhile, was avoiding catching her gaze. She didn’t think he was afraid of her—the ass was too arrogant for that. No, what had stung him the most had been the blow to his ego, the realization that—gasp—not every woman in the world would fall to her knees at the merest hint of his attention. Imbecile.

“We’re here for one main reason,” Titus boomed at that moment, and though he, too, wore a breastplate and was big and muscled, he had exactly zero other similarities to Aegaeon. “Let’s get that out of the way first. Lady Zanaya, as discussed, I have no problem with reinitiating the border in Africa that would give you reign over the northern half, while I take the southern.”

“Call me Zan,” Zanaya reminded him, grinning at this young archangel who’d somehow become such good friends with Alexander that he made her lover laugh. “No one’s ever accused me of being a lady.”

A responding grin from Titus. “I think we will get along well, Zan. In all honesty, I would’ve settled for a merely sane neighbor after putting up with that fetid scum Charisemnon for so many centuries—but you are so much more than that. I would be most pleased to call you my neighbor.”

Charmed, Zanaya said, “And I you, Titus.” She glanced around the circle. “Does anyone have an argument with our territorial agreement?”

“No—it makes perfect sense,” Neha murmured, her tone a touch distracted.

Zanaya didn’t know too much about the Archangel of India except that she was fearless in battle. She’d held nothing back in the fight against Lijuan. And from what Alexander had told her of the post-war period, Neha had fought side by side with her squadrons and ground forces to dispatch the reborn children that remained in her territory.

“She was never a general,” Alexander had murmured, “but, when it was needed, she behaved like one of the best. Her people would do anything for her.”

Today, the rest of the Cadre echoed Neha’s statement, and the conversation moved on to matters that had been shelved until an in-person meeting. Zanaya kept her peace throughout, listening and learning the status of the world. It appeared that rebuilding their devastated territories had taken center stage over the past decade until, at last, they lived in a time of peace and prosperity.

“Will such a time bore you, Zanaya?” Caliane asked after the meeting was over and they’d all stepped outside into the sunlit courtyard to drink and eat and talk. The food had been provided by the staff Titus’s sister had handpicked for this reclaimed stronghold, and they’d done themselves proud.

They were all Zanaya’s people now, and, as she and Caliane strolled into the low-height maze garden that was the left border of the courtyard, she made a note to praise them for their work. “You know I’ve battled in many a war,” she said, “but despite what some might think, I far prefer peace. I like to rule, to build my territory to be strong. War shatters things.”

Caliane’s expression was thoughtful. “Yes, I see that now I look back. Your territory was a jewel in the world’s crown. I’m only sorry that Charisemnon did so much damage to the part of it he ruled during his reign.”

The pull came again at the back of Zanaya’s brain, and she could’ve almost sworn she heard a whisper. The tiny hairs on her arms rising, she flicked her eyes this way and that, but the maze garden and courtyard beyond were empty but for her fellow archangels. The staff and others had been dismissed for the duration of the meeting.

Gut tense, she nonetheless kept her expression calm and continued on in her conversation with Caliane. Afterward, she spoke to others in the Cadre, including with Raphael. The young archangel with his sun-kissed skin, vivid blue eyes, black hair, and wings of white with a metallic glitter to them—a true white-gold—was much the same as during the war, but for the extraordinary mark on his right temple.

Then as now, it reminded her of a mythical dragon, but though the lines were as defined, it appeared . . . flatter to her gaze. As if it had lost its vibrancy. A sign of the end of the Cascade? But that wasn’t what she wanted to ask him. “How is your consort?” she said, still fascinated by the fact he’d fallen in love with a mortal—and turned her into an angel.