Archangel's Sun (Guild Hunter #13)(52)

Titus rose again, his thighs taut against the fabric of his pants. “What I can’t understand is why did the surviving villagers leave if you found evidence they managed to burn up the reborn?”

Wrenching her gaze away from his thighs, she said, “It’s possible they were too few in number with too little food to survive here.” Even as she said that, she found herself shaking her head. “But if that were the case, I would’ve thought they’d head toward Lumia. It’s the closest settlement.”

“They would’ve had to cross mountains,” Titus pointed out. “Impossible if they had injured among their number.”

Though dawn had come, bringing with it the first kiss of the sun, Sharine rubbed her hands up and down her arms. It had nothing to do with the temperature, however, her mind filled with agonizingly detailed renderings of the slaughter that’d taken place here. At times like these, being an artist was a curse.

“I hope that’s it. I hope the survivors found safe harbor.” She refused to even consider that their bleached bones might lie somewhere in the wild, far from safety.

“There’s enough light.” Titus looked up at the sky. “It’s time to examine the site of the burning.”

While she kept watch, Titus checked all the buildings they passed, found no one alive or dead.

“Do you think the pyre included the bodies of their dead?” she murmured as they walked closer to the shriveled, blackened remnants of the fire. “Not simply the infected ones, but those who fell in defense of the village.” She’d seen no graves on their walk, no signs of disturbed earth as happened with a burial.

“I believe so, and I can’t blame them for their choice.” Titus’s tone was grim. “Even if they had no knowledge of the fact the reborn can infect the recently dead, they’re unlikely to have had the manpower to dig multiple graves, or the supplies with which to create more than one fire.”

Sharine’s throat ached for these people who’d been forced to make choices no one should ever be asked to make. “They had to know the danger they’d face out in the open,” she said, thinking of the roaming packs of reborn, vicious and pitiless. “They must’ve been desperate indeed to head out.”

“My guess is that they knew no one would be coming and, as you said, starving to death was a real possibility.” Titus looked up. “From the charts we found in Charisemnon’s court, this settlement isn’t on any normal angelic flight path. No one would’ve seen a sign asking for help.”

She touched the phone in her pocket. “Why did they not use modern devices?”

“We brought down the network across the entire continent during the battle.” Titus’s expression twisted. “It would’ve left them with no means of communication with the outside world. And so I was partially responsible for whatever happened here.”

Sharine found herself touching her hand to his forearm, the warmth of him soaking into her skin. “This is the way of the world,” she said simply. “When immortals fight, it’s the weaker beings who pay the price. Yet you had to fight. Had you not, chances are these people would’ve been just as dead, and the death wave would’ve continued unabated—you know your nemesis wouldn’t have stopped.”

Titus, his muscles rigid, didn’t say anything. Dropping her hand, she carried on at his side . . . but his open distress at the deaths here caused a crack in the walls she’d put up around her innermost self. This man, this archangel, he kept surprising her with the depth of his heart.

“We’re here.” In front of the damaged wall through which she’d seen the bones.

Titus strode up to it. “Wait.”

As she watched, he tore apart the wall with care not to damage the remains on the other side. Parts of the wall, almost burned through, crumbled into dust at his feet. She wondered why the flames hadn’t engulfed the entire village. Perhaps it was that the bodies hadn’t burned hot enough or the fire had somehow starved.

Enlarging the space with methodical concentration, Titus worked until he’d eliminated most of the wall and they were looking on at a makeshift crematorium. Piles of ash played witness to the intent of the fire. But the flames hadn’t been hot enough and skulls rolled around on the floor, while long thighbones as well as smaller finger bones lay in the light falling through the new opening.

She pointed out what had brought them here, the elongated hand . . . which she now saw was attached to a body. No wonder she hadn’t been able to see it during her first visit; the body was at the bottom of many others. Titus silently moved the other remains aside—with care, but at speed, to reveal the body at the bottom.

It hadn’t burned up in the fire, simply been scorched in a way that meant it had mummified in the interim.

It had no head.

Her eyes widened but her horror had nothing to do with the decapitation. She’d just understood the import of the body’s spinal structure. “Titus.”

Titus went to crouch down, then seemed to decide against it. Sharine wouldn’t want her wings dragging in all that death, either.

“That’s an angelic back,” he confirmed.

She forced herself closer. There was no avoiding the truth—under the skin, angelic bodies were built differently from mortals in ways both subtle and profound, because angels had wings and thus musculature not possessed by those who couldn’t fly. This was especially so when it came to the back and chest areas.