Archangel's Sun (Guild Hunter #13)(93)

“Yes.” Sharine shifted to take position near the angel’s head. “Should he rise in an attack, I’ll bring him down with my power.” Sharine had an artist’s soul, violence not in her usual lexicon, but she’d come to accept that violence was the only answer in the current situation—the reborn would never listen to reason, never agree to live in peace side by side.

And whatever the connection between Lijuan’s reborn and Charisemnon’s disease, the victims of both shared a single overriding desire: to feed on living flesh. Sira’s team was of the opinion that Charisemnon had used the blood of the reborn as a base to synthesize or “birth” his disease. Sharine was apt to agree with them.

“Ready, my lady?”

At Sharine’s nod, Ozias slid away her sword and took out a knife. Using the razored edge, she made a tiny cut at the tip of one of the angel’s fingers. The angel didn’t recoil, though his chest continued to rise and fall, his eyes to blink. What emerged from the miniscule cut was a fluid of viscous green streaked with black.

The smell was putrid and overpowering.

The spymaster staggered back. “I’ve smelled that stench before,” Ozias choked out. “It’s of a body decaying in the grave.”

Sharine thought back to the infant’s mother; had she had such an ugly odor to her? She couldn’t remember, her entire being had been so focused on giving the poor child peace in her final moments. “We must consult Sira.”

If this angel was alive—not reborn, simply badly infected with Charisemnon’s disease—then he could prove critical to those studying the infant and thus, to the infant’s life. “They may be able to use him to test if the babe’s blood holds a cure.”

Ozias sucked in a breath, then choked all over again. “Let’s talk outside.”

Once there, they both took huge gulps of the bitingly clean air and decided to call Titus. He was the archangel of this territory; the final decision had to be his. Sharine’s heart clenched at seeing his worried face on the small screen.

“Your opinion aligns with Ozias’s?” he asked after Ozias laid out all they knew.

A tightening of her abdomen, his words threatening to knock the air out of her and not for the first time. This man, he wasn’t afraid of strength, wasn’t afraid of using that strength to ensure the best outcomes for his territory—and for his people. “Yes,” she said. “He may be the key to understanding the babe.”

“I’ll dispatch Sira and their team.” His attention arrowed in on Sharine as Ozias went to speak to the three angels she’d be leaving behind to watch over the infected angel. “Your skin has become more golden, your bones sharper.”

“I’m becoming stronger the more I fly.” She wasn’t losing weight but adding lean muscle to her body. “How goes it in the south?”

“Day by day,” he said with warrior practicality . . . then touched his fingers to the screen, as if he would touch her.

She found herself responding in kind.

Titus ended the call with no good-bye, a little quirk of his that made her wonder in ways that weren’t good for her heart. Yes, Titus would leave a mark on her.

“Lady Sharine!” Ozias called from where she’d been briefing the angels who were to stand guard. “It’s time to fly!”

Sliding away the phone, Sharine rose into the sky.

As they fought on through the days that followed, she remained on edge, but they discovered no other signs of infected angels—until the commander of a large city to the northeast reported the appearance of mauled mortal and vampire bodies in a particular dark corner of her city.

Though the general angelic populace knew nothing of the infection, the commander said, “I’ve heard rumors that my sire was involved in terrible experimentation. If true, it’s possible one of his subjects escaped.” She swallowed. “I know little more—I’m a city commander, wasn’t part of the inner court.

“I’ve sent people to hunt the perpetrator,” she added, “but with protecting the city from the reborn threat, it’s been a low priority.” Exhaustion carved lines into the cream of her skin, her golden hair a feathered cap. “I’d more than welcome any assistance you can provide.”

Prior to this meeting, Ozias had briefed Sharine on the commander. “Eryna isn’t evil—she’s akin to Kiama’s parents: stupidly loyal.” No harshness in her voice, the words a simple truth. “As a city commander, she’s one of the best.”

Sharine felt a deep sense of compassion for those like Eryna, who’d been let down by the person they trusted above all others. Hadn’t she been much the same with Aegaeon? So needy and broken that she’d clung to the familiar even when it turned hurtful.

“Alexander has dispatched a number of relief squadrons,” Ozias said, and Eryna’s face visibly brightened, her spine no longer rigid. “In the meantime, it’s best if you maintain your border watch while we see what predator roams your streets.”

Eryna inclined her head. “A sound plan.” Then, for the first time, she met Sharine’s gaze with the blue of her own. “Lady Hummingbird, when you paint this war, will you make those of us who flew with Charisemnon into shadows? Into monsters?”

So much pain in the questions, a savagery of regret. “I think, child, you carry the shadows within. I have no need to create them with paint.”