Archangel's Sun (Guild Hunter #13)(50)

“The tipping point,” Titus said even as her cheeks glowed, “was Lijuan.”

Another kind of heat blazed in her. “You can’t simply blame another.” It was lazy and absolved one party of responsibility in a circumstance that both’d had a chance to influence. “I say that as a woman who so long blamed Aegaeon for what I became. But I”—she slapped a hand over her chest—“made choices along the way.”

Not the initial fracture. She hadn’t been able to stop that. Her brain had gone into shock, her mind skittering. But she’d had moments of sanity at the start, moments where she wasn’t lost, and to this day, she didn’t know if she could’ve fought harder to come back. Had she surrendered? Had she chosen her prison?

“No.” Titus cradled her closer, the action making her suck in a quick breath as her heart kicked. “What I mean is that it was akin to an explosive reaction such as my scientists create when they mix two inert substances together.”

Sharine frowned. “You think they would’ve stayed rational instead of power-hungry monsters had they never met?”

“I can’t speak for Lijuan, for she was already an angel of seven and a half millennia by my ascension, but I feel I knew Charisemnon well enough to say that he was a man who liked luxury and worked the utter minimum necessary. He wouldn’t have thought to stir himself to such grandiose plans of war on his own.”

Titus’s neck and shoulder muscles moved strongly as he angled them into the wind so that they could ride it, his wings powerful above them. “One of my scholars once told me a tale of two mortal murderers and he used a term that seems to fit here: folie à deux.”

A madness of two.

“I’m not sure I agree with you,” Sharine said. “I’ve heard of Charisemnon’s appetites—one such as him would always want a bigger thrill, more sensory fulfilment. But”—she pressed her fingers to Titus’s lips when he would’ve interrupted her—“I do believe there’s a grain of truth in your supposition. Charisemnon and Lijuan egged each other on, as children do on a playing field.”

Titus didn’t respond, his eyes locked with hers. Her pulse jolted, her cheeks burned. Jerking her fingers from the unexpectedly soft curve of his lips, she went to make some quip to diffuse the tension that locked both their muscles . . . only to realize they were nearly halfway to their destination.

It had taken Titus bare hours to cover a massive distance. She hadn’t realized how fast he was flying, he’d done such a good job of protecting her from the wind. Sharine was in no mood to be protected from anything, but she couldn’t fault him for the care he’d taken with her.

A curl of warmth in her stomach, an ache that was pure temptation; it had been a long time, whispered a deeply hungry part of her. Why not break her fast with such a lover?

Shrugging off the thought, for she had no intention of becoming another one of Titus’s admiring legions, she said, “Do you need to rest?” Even an archangel couldn’t go on indefinitely.

“At the dawn,” he promised. “I have no desire to be covered in more reborn rot.”

Sharine grimaced. “Agreed.”

So it was that they flew on through the night hours. At some point, she fell asleep in his arms, and woke to find him sweeping down to a grassland. Skin hot, she sat up. “My apologies.”

“Do not worry,” he said as he landed. “You didn’t snore.”

Sharine would’ve snapped back a retort, but he was putting her on her feet and she groaned as she stretched out her body. Things creaked. Lovely. Titus, too, was stretching—and he was glorious under the soft gold of the dawn light. “Your tattoo,” she found herself saying. “It appears almost alive in the light.”

He scratched the ridged lines of his abdomen. “A trick of the light.” Eyes narrowed, he was looking past her. “Damn.”

Sharine followed his gaze, caught the darting movements. “Reborn.”

The slide of swords leaving sheaths was the only warning she received before Titus took off. Sharine followed, her wings aching from having been collapsed in his arms for so long. But Titus had the situation well in control, and the reborn were soon dead. He used a small pulse of power to erase their bodies, then landed again.

“If you could, Lady Sharine.” He pointed at the splatters of blood on his chest.

Sharine’s hand was already coated in power. Stepping close, she began to get the blood and gore off him. Her focus only slipped when she was nearly done; she became darkly conscious of the heat and size of him, her stomach taut and her mouth dry. It was all she could do not to jerk back when the task was done.

Titus glanced down, his expression shuttered. “We should fly again.”

“I know I’m slower, but it’d help my wings if I could spend at least an hour in the air on my own.” Not being pressed up against him would be a bonus.

Nodding, Titus waited for her to take off first.

When she did eventually end up in his arms again, she had enough distance from that spike of need that she could be rational. Not lying to herself about the depth of the attraction didn’t mean diving headfirst into a bad decision. She asked him of the political history between him and Charisemnon, listened intently.

Later, he asked her about her friendship with Caliane. Laughing, she told him stories of their long association, memories so strong they’d survived her lost years and more. And it struck her that she hadn’t spoken for so many consecutive hours with another person . . . for a long time.