Archangel's Sun (Guild Hunter #13)(86)

She flew right next to him while Ozias went a little ahead, and they spoke as they flew. “She looks to be either at term or very near it.”

“You must advise me on this. Do we need a midwife?” He couldn’t believe he was asking such a thing, not when what was growing inside this dead creature brought to shambling life was apt to be a thing of horror. “Or can I open her womb after ending her life, and retrieve whatever germinates within?”

Sharine’s face went white, her bones sharp against her skin as she looked at the reborn angel in his arms.

“Think of your people,” he said gently. “Would any one of them wish to be in this state? Would they want for you to prolong their torture?” That was when he felt a movement against his chest, where the reborn angel’s stomach was pressed.

A rippling spasm.

He’d never been in such close contact with a woman about to have a child, and the ripple felt too big and strong, but he was old enough to know what was happening. “The decision’s been made—she’s having contractions.”

“I can act as midwife.” It wouldn’t be the first time Sharine had delivered a child; with age came many experiences, and she remembered acting as an emergency midwife to another angel well enough to do this. “It’s probably for the best if we don’t bring anyone else into it. We don’t know what either mother or . . . child, if it is a child, carry in their blood and other bodily fluids.”

For better or worse, Sharine and Titus had both already been exposed. Ozias hadn’t come in actual contact with the victim, nor had she spent time in an enclosed space with her. Sharine, in contrast, had scratched her hand while inside that room. Nothing but a minor scrape that was already all but healed, but still, a significant exposure.

She went to say something to Titus on that point, but went silent when her gaze fell on him. He was staring at the reborn angel in his arms, a twisted pain in his features.

“I recognize her from my last visit to the Refuge,” he said roughly. “Two hundred years old at the most. Barely out of training.”

So young. Sharine’s heart broke. A child this young shouldn’t be with child herself; it was beyond rare for such a young angel to fall pregnant. She’d also most likely have parents who were yet awake. Their world would shatter at this terrible loss.

She and Titus exchanged no further words the rest of the journey to Charisemnon’s stronghold. After landing directly in the inner courtyard, Titus ordered Ozias to stand guard, then carried the reborn to the closest bed. It happened to be a feminine room, dressed with soft fabrics and delicate embellishments.

Sharine was glad of the softness of the coverlet on which Titus placed the dying woman. No doubt they could revive her with a meal of flesh, but such an act would dishonor not only who this woman had once been, but the concept of life itself. Titus was right to say no angel would choose this existence.

Sharine tugged the blankets free, so the reborn was no longer bound up in them.

When Titus tore strips from one of those blankets, she wanted to protest that the reborn no longer needed to be tied up, that the creature was too weak—but she knew that was her heart speaking. Whoever this being had once been, that being was gone. Charisemnon had stolen a dignified death from her, turning her into this abomination of life, and now she couldn’t be trusted.

But she stepped in when Titus would’ve tied her ankles to the bed. “I’m in no danger from her feet. And it’s better if she has control of her lower body.”

Titus nodded. “I’ll be here should she somehow break her bonds.”

The reborn woman screamed then, a thin shriek of sound that raised every hair on Sharine’s body, it was so inhuman. Still, careful to keep her hand away from the woman’s snapping teeth, she stroked her hand over her hair. This child was dead, its torment close to over, but at this instant it was a creature caught in a trap it could never escape; Sharine would do it what kindness she could.

Oddly the stroking seemed to calm her, and when Sharine said, “Push!” she screamed but obeyed. The few shreds of clothing that still clung to her frame were no impediment to the birth. So Sharine kept giving the order—the contractions were coming one on top of the other now, in a rhythm that wasn’t that of a healthy angel.

No angel’s stomach had ever bulged and rolled this way. No angel’s body had gushed a greenish black fluid. And no angel’s eyes had been devoid of white, the sclera a sea of crimson.

Another scream, the reborn angel’s eyes locked with Sharine’s. For a moment, Sharine saw sanity within those eyes, saw a knowledge of horror, and she heard the whispered words, “Give me mercy. Please.” Then the woman snapped her teeth before screaming again and bearing down as she thrashed in her bonds.

Shifting lower down the bed, Sharine pushed up her sleeves and got ready to grab whatever it was that was about to come out, but Titus nudged her gently aside. “You don’t know if what’ll emerge will do so biting and clawing.”

She shuddered, her imagination conjuring up a nightmare. “Did you hear her?” Grief thickened her voice. “She asked for mercy.” Sharine couldn’t imagine the pain of this woman—to know that she was a diseased and dying creature, but being unable to do anything to stop it.

A curt nod. “She shouldn’t be conscious in any way. Once they rise, the reborn of this iteration—even the most cunning—have no sense of reason and no language. It confirms what we were told about the first angelic reborn.”