Archangel's Sun (Guild Hunter #13)(32)

“I’ll send out a science team with an escort,” Orios told him, his tone grim. “The scholars have become more practical since the war, but I don’t trust them outside without protection.”

Neither did Titus; immortal scholars could sometimes live on their own planet. “I leave it in your capable hands.” After ending the conversation, he passed the phone back to Sharine, then went about creating the earthen prison for the chosen buffalo.

That done, he erased the rest of the infected animals from existence, his power leaving another scar in the landscape of his territory. It bruised his heart to see that, but it had to be done.

They saw no other unnatural creatures in the hours that passed, but while the cities appeared well enough—if quiet and on edge—the damage to the passing villages and farms was becoming increasingly worse. “Lumia?”

Though he hadn’t spoken for the past two hours, Sharine understood what he was asking. “We were safe—the reborn never reached that far.” She indicated below. “From what I saw on my previous journey, this is the worst-hit section on this side of the border.”

Titus took in the damage. “Charisemnon was playing with fire thinking he could control the reborn.” Only Lijuan’d had that ability.

“He also left his people helpless against them,” Sharine said, her tone full of cut glass, bright and bloody. “I was informed that he drafted not only angels and vampires, but strong mortals into his troops—including people from farmsteads and villages.”

“My spymaster has confirmed this.” Titus still had difficulty understanding the why of it. “Farmers and field workers?” None would’ve stood a chance in a battle between immortals. It wasn’t the same as when Guild Hunters or mercenaries joined in—they were highly trained and made the decision of their own free will.

The African Guild had all defected to Titus’s side as soon as Charisemnon’s perfidy and evil became clear, and they’d fought with courage and heart and skill. The Guild had taken losses, but at about the same percentage as the rest of Titus’s forces. No one would ever consider a hunter easy prey.

Quite unlike the poor scared mortals called up by Charisemnon.

“I understand now why so many villagers burned their homes to the ground—they would’ve had no chance one-on-one. It was a smart choice to lead or drive the monsters inside a house, then turn it into a funeral pyre.”

“The only choice, I think.” Sharine’s eyes were soft with sadness. “Even if it left them without a home.”

“These people showed more courage than the hind end of an ass who called himself their archangel.”

It was at the next battered but still living village, flaming torches marking out its boundaries, that he made a decision. “I will land. These people need to understand that I am now their liege and I will send help.” Such had always been in his plans—but he hadn’t realized the sheer depth of the devastation in this area.

Titus had been a fool; he’d believed that his enemy would’ve protected his own people, not crippled them. With so much available prey, a few reborn would’ve quickly turned into many. “I assumed that leaking bag of pus would’ve at least placed a rear guard whose task it was to eliminate any reborn who scuttled north.”

“Assumptions are the enemy of coherence,” Sharine said.

In other words, You’re an idiot.

“I would’ve never attacked my own people!” It came out thunder in the air that caused startled villagers to jerk their heads upward.

Sharine looked at him for long moments before inclining her head. “I accept that. Your honor made you expect too much from someone who had no honor. Remember that, Titus.” A fierce intensity to her. “Remember that there are those in this world who will cross every line and feel no guilt in doing so.”

He’d witnessed that ugliness with Lijuan. The Archangel of Death had used children to her own ends. Such was not to be borne. And yet, he’d made this mistake, left the north too long untended. Yes, Sharine was right to castigate him. He’d been foolish and these people had paid for it.

Landing in the center of the village, dust swirling around him as he folded back his wings, he waited until she was down, too, before he took in the villagers. He would not have anyone say that he hadn’t watched over the Hummingbird while she was in his care—not that she seemed to want or even need his concern.

No one had warned him she was so contrary.

Had all of angelkind lied to him for an eon? Surely that was impossible.

“Well,” she murmured, for in the time since their landing, every single raggedly dressed villager within sight had gone down flat to the earth, their faces pressed to the dirt and their hands palm-to-palm in front in a pose of supplication that disturbed him on the deepest level.

He ruled with a firm hand, but he’d never sought to unman or humiliate anyone, for these people were mothers and fathers, elders and healers with their own pride and honor. But the people in front of him weren’t like his own . . . though they belonged to him now.

Charisemnon, he reminded himself, had somehow convinced his populace that for him to take their young daughters to his bed was an honor and not a perversion. The memory caused a crawling sensation across his skin and his voice was harsh when he said, “Rise! I wish to talk to your faces, not your asses!”