Because, Naasir realized, Andromeda fought instinctively.
Dahariel had given her an excellent grounding, but she adapted her moves to the flow of combat, causing Isabel to have to rethink her more classical style. His eyes narrowed. That wasn't just skill, not given Andromeda's age--the instinct came from within.
She was an archangel's granddaughter.
But where her mother wasted the strength that ran in her veins, Andromeda had honed it, made it her own. When she put her blade to Isabel's throat in a move that signaled a win, her chest heaving but her hand steady, he wanted to growl in pride. Instead, he waited until the women drew apart and raised their swords in front of their faces in the respectful bow of two warriors.
Jumping down to the ground, he saw Andromeda's head whip around. "Naasir!" She ran straight into his arms, sword thrust into a scabbard that hung alongside one of her thighs. He recognized it as one of Isabel's.
And then she was cupping his face in her hands and all he could see was the clear brown of her irises, the golden starburst around her pupils bright. "You're safe!"
Sliding his arms around her under her wings, he picked her up and spun her around. "You were worried about me." He could look after himself, but it seemed right that a mate should worry.
"Of course I was worried." Andromeda pretended to hit his shoulders as he held her up off the ground, but it was more a caress than censure. "You took your time getting here."
Really wanting to kiss her--stupid Grimoire--he put her on the ground and sneakily petted her wings.
She shot him a minatory look but her lips were tugging up at the corners, her eyes sparkling. Playing with him again. Their own secret game. When her fingers brushed his, he closed his hand over hers. "I had to avoid Lijuan's squadron," he told her and Isabel. "They're waiting for Andi to emerge from Amanat."
Hands on her hips, Isabel asked for further information. "Hmm," she said afterward. "Let them skulk about for now. We'll eliminate the four from the equation when you and Andi are ready to leave--we don't want to give Philomena a chance to send reinforcements or replacements."
"We can do it," he said, including both women in his statement.
Isabel shook her head. "Caliane's squadrons need the experience and the confidence that comes from defeating the enemy."
Naasir decided he could allow the squadron that; this prey wasn't very interesting. "I need to speak to Caliane." The Ancient would expect him. He wasn't hers, but she thought of him as hers while he was here, and regardless, she had his respect.
Caliane might be an archangel known for her grace and the haunting beauty of her voice, but she had the same killer instinct as Naasir--and the same devotion to family.
*
Andromeda was still giddy with relief an hour later when Naasir climbed up to her balcony and walked into her room through the open doors. He'd bathed somewhere, was dressed in clean jeans and a white collarless shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Made of either a fine cotton or linen, it was washed soft and fit him so well that she knew it was his. He must've left clothes in Amanat.
Walking over to where she was sitting on the edge of her bed making notes on a small pad, he sat down beside her and nuzzled at her. She should've stopped him but she didn't. His warm breath, his warmer skin, his quintessentially masculine scent, the dampness of his freshly washed hair, it all felt too good, felt like the best thing she would ever feel.
"Did you feed?" she asked in a husky tone, having noticed the fine lines of strain on his face when he first arrived.
"Yes." He sprawled on the bed behind her--as if he had every right to just take over her space. "Have you seen the angel we rescued?"
Andromeda turned to sit with one leg bent and on the bed, curling her fingers into her palm to keep from reaching out and stroking the hard muscle of his thigh. "No, she's in anshara."
"She was brave," Naasir said, his tone matter-of-fact. "She'll survive."
"The body, yes, but I worry about her mind and her heart."
"When she wakes, she'll make a choice to live or to die while living." Starkly solemn words. "No one can make it for her."
That metal hand, it was back, crushing her chest. "Did you ever have to do that?" she whispered.
"Yes, when I was created. I decided to live and to be me."
It should've been a nonsensical statement, for what child remembered its birth? Yet she knew it for pure truth--Naasir didn't lie. "I'm glad," she said. "I like you."
A glint of silver under the curl of his lashes. "Lie down beside me."
Heart aching, she didn't fight her need or his. Going down on her side beside him, she propped her head on one hand . . . and spread a wing over his chest.
His smile held her captive, the hands with which he petted her feathers unexpectedly gentle. Though he stayed away from the highly sensitive areas, the caresses made her toes curl.
"Pretty feathers," he murmured, lashes lowered as he indulged himself. "Do you know you have bronze filaments that catch the sunlight?"
"No, I don't." Andromeda knew her wings weren't striking, but they were strong and they took her to the freedom of the sky. It was more than enough.
Naasir smoothed out a feather. "Look."
When she did, she caught the faint glimmer of a bronze filament hidden among all the others on a middle primary covert. Wonder unfurled in her. "How did you notice that?"
"Because I notice you." With that comment that stole her breath, he began to stroke her wing again. "Alexander--tell me your thoughts."
Andromeda looked at the notepad she'd dropped on the bed by her breasts. She'd been using it to organize her thoughts. "I think there's a high chance he's in his former territory, but not beneath what was his palace."
She blew out a breath. "I tried to direct Lijuan's people away from the entire region, but I don't think Xi was convinced." The tightrope she'd walked in Lijuan's throne room made her breath turn shallow even now. "If he does go there, I'm certain he'll focus on the palace."
"Rohan is very strong--he'll delay them." Naasir bent his forearm behind his head. "Had you asked him, he'd have volunteered to be the first line of defense for his father."
"Should we warn him?"
Naasir took out a sleek black phone in answer. "Jelena had a spare," he told her before making a call to Raphael. "The sire will speak one-to-one with Rohan, tell him Lijuan's plans," he shared with her after a short conversation. "Rohan's loyalty to his father is an indelible part of him."
Trusting his judgment, she nodded. "What about Favashi?"
"She hasn't chosen a side--and if Alexander rises, it's near certain Favashi will no longer be the Archangel of Persia. Rohan won't risk telling her." With that frank summary, Naasir placed his hand flat on her wing, the touch possessive. "If not below the palace, then where?"
Wanting desperately to erase the distance between them, she picked up her notepad and showed him the crude map she'd drawn. "There's a highly complex cave system about a five-hour flight from the palace." More than distant and remote enough to offer total privacy.
"Parts of the cave system are so deep that no one has ever successfully explored them, though many have attempted it. Most," she said, the tiny hairs on her arms standing up, "give up after suffering injuries. The others have disappeared without a trace."
"Alexander is Sleeping with one eye open?"
"He was a general." Giving in to need, she began to pet Naasir's hair. His rumbling purr made her thighs clench, her breasts feel as if they were swelling . . . and her heart threaten to break.
Forcing herself to speak past the lump in her throat, she said, "One mortal explorer who barely made it out said that at the far end of the caves, deep in the earth, there's a great chasm filled with molten lava." Andromeda hadn't been able to stop imagining the terrifyingly beautiful sight ever since she'd read the explorer's rambling, fragmented report.
"Most people discount his report because his sanity was broken by whatever it was
he saw, but the report's full of too much detail for me to do the same. A number of the things he said line up exactly with how I imagine an Ancient might protect himself." About to tell Naasir more about what the explorer had stated, her mouth suddenly fell open.
She sat up in bed, eyes wide. "Maybe what the explorer saw wasn't lava at all, but molten metal--Caliane says Alexander had a strong affinity to it."
Silver eyes gleamed at her. Moving without warning, Naasir grabbed one of her arms and hauled her across his chest.
"Naasir!"
"To get to the metal-lava chasm," he said, totally ignoring her frown and holding her flush to the hard heat of his chest with one arm around her waist, "we'll have to infiltrate Favashi's territory."
Propping up her chin on her hands, the feel of his heart beating under her a deep pleasure, she surrendered to the indulgence of being so close to him. "You can sneak in anywhere. I'm the problem." She made a face.
"I need you." Blunt words that fell like a gift over her. "You carry knowledge about Alexander that could cause us to change our path midway."
"Yes." Her theory was based on historical records and instinct. There was no predicting the actuality. "I wouldn't let you go alone anyway. It's dangerous."
A slow smile that turned into a growl that made her skin go tight and her blood turn to honey. "That stupid Grimoire book." Gripping her chin, he bared his teeth at her. "I haven't forgotten your promise. I get to do anything I want to you after I find it."
Andromeda couldn't breathe. "Anything you want," she whispered, her voice husky and her breasts so swollen they ached. "Touching, licking, biting . . . anything."
The smile returned and this time it was so primal she knew that should he ever take her, he'd own her. Every inch, every drop, everything.
26
Illium flew over New York with a buoyant spirit. Jason and Naasir were both out of harm's way at present, and he'd spoken to his mother. Thanks to Raphael's call on the heels of his own, the Hummingbird had accepted an invitation to come to New York.
He was determined the anniversary wouldn't be so bad this year. He'd keep her too busy to think about what she'd left behind in the Refuge. Busy and happy enough that she wouldn't want to return quickly to her painful, soul-shredding vigil.
Seeing the shattered light of Aodhan's wings not far off in the afternoon sky, he smiled and angled up toward his friend. His mother loved Aodhan, and Illium knew Aodhan returned the affection. He'd spend hours with her if that was what she needed.
"Your mother has a great capacity to love," Aodhan had said to him once.
It was true--and it was also the Hummingbird's greatest weakness.
Putting two fingers between his teeth as he reached Aodhan's altitude, he whistled.
Aodhan glanced over, the faint smile on his face deeply welcome after two painful centuries when Illium hadn't been able to reach his friend, no matter how hard he tried. Aodhan's psychic scars might never fade, but he was rising past them in a show of grit and strength no one who didn't know what had been done to him could fully understand.
The twenty-three months Aodhan had been missing had been the most horrific period of Illium's life . . . worse than when he'd lost his mortal lover. He'd survived losing her. He didn't know if he could survive losing Aodhan.
Never before had he seen that truth so clearly and it shook him.
"What's wrong?" Aodhan called out from his position on Illium's left, their wingtips almost touching.
Illium went to shake his head, staggered by his realization and not ready to discuss it, when it felt as if his heart literally exploded from the inside out. The pain was excruciating.
Wings crumpling, he felt himself fall.
He'd played this trick a thousand times, pretending to plummet out-of-control from the sky, his wings tangled. Aodhan had stopped falling for it centuries ago, and, mind red with pain, Illium had no way to signal to him that this wasn't a trick. The high-rises of Manhattan rushed up at him at terminal velocity. Should the impact separate his head from his spine, his brain and internal organs pulverized, he wouldn't survive.
Not ready to die, and piercingly conscious the wound of his death would permanently break both his mother and Aodhan, he tried to stretch out his wings. A new blast of agonizing pain flooded his mouth with blood . . . and switched off the light on his consciousness.
*
Aodhan saw Illium's expression change right before his wings crumpled. So many times Illium had tricked him, but his instincts screamed this was no trick. Not stopping to think, he folded in his own wings and dropped like a stone toward Illium's rapidly diminishing form, those beautiful wings of silver-blue hanging uselessly as Illium tumbled toward metal and glass and concrete at deadly speed.
Sire! Illium is falling!
Even as he alerted Raphael, Aodhan knew his archangel wasn't close enough. He'd spotted Raphael's wings on the other side of the city not long before Illium whistled at him. Heart screaming as he willed himself to drop faster, he searched the air for any other help, but everything was moving by too fast, the wind burning his skin. His only advantage was that he was an aerodynamic bullet, while Illium's wings were causing drag, slowing his descent a minute fraction.
Aodhan didn't take his eyes from that falling blue form . . . and then he was passing it. He snapped out his wings less than two hundred meters from the roof of a high-rise and, back facing Illium, braced for impact.
It slammed through his bones, rattled his teeth, and sent him spiraling down in an uncontrollable fall. He could feel Illium sliding off his back, couldn't slow it down.
They were going to hit the roof at bone-breaking speed.
Aodhan wasn't sure either one of them would survive. No, he thought. No.
Managing to grab hold of Illium's wrist as his friend tumbled off him, he felt his arm wrench out of its socket. He refused to release his grip. And then he was seeing white fire in his vision, Raphael rising up from below and scooping Illium into his arms bare meters from the roof. I have him.
Aodhan let go.
Too close to the roof himself and with too much momentum to stop the collision, Aodhan braced himself for another hard landing when he'd only just recovered from the last one.
Having closed his eyes instinctively, he didn't know at first what hit him. He just knew he'd been rammed hard enough to crack several ribs. Eyes snapping open, he saw he'd been pushed into clear air.
Spreading his wings, he spiraled out of control a couple more times before finding his aerial balance. Sweat-soaked and with his heart racing what felt like a thousand beats a minute, he looked up to see Elena and the Primary flying toward him.
"Are you okay?" Elena yelled when she was close enough. "We couldn't catch you in time so we rammed you!"
"Thank you," he managed to get out, able to see a bruise already forming on Elena's face and upper arm. "Illium?"
Stark eyes. "I don't know."
The three of them turned as one to the Tower. Landing on the balcony outside the infirmary, he and Elena ran in while the Primary waited outside. The senior Tower healer and Raphael were bent over Illium's limp form, the room otherwise empty.
Aodhan wasn't used to seeing his friend so still. Illium was never still. Even when he was lying down, his eyes sparked, his mouth laughed.
"Aodhan." Elena reached out a hand as if to take his, dropped it halfway. "He's alive," she said, her voice fierce. "You saved him."
Aodhan felt as if he was still falling. "There's blood on him." It came out a whisper.
Elena's breath trembled, and though she'd only known Illium a mere heartbeat in contrast to the centuries of memories in Aodhan's head, Aodhan knew she, too, was close to panic. Time made little difference; it was the heart that mattered, the ability to love. And Elena loved with a passion that had melted the ice-cold shields of an archangel.
Her unhidden fear for Illium made it easier for Aodhan to reach out and lock his hand with hers, to make voluntary contact with
anyone other than his closest friend. The sensation would've been a shock at any other time; at this instant his mind and his soul had room for no other emotions but those already threatening to drown him.
Aodhan willed his friend to wake up, trying not to see the wings lying so limp on either side of Illium's body, the bloody tears smeared on his cheeks. If he lost Illium . . .
His hand clenched on Elena's.
27
Naasir stayed in touch with the Tower throughout the night. Dmitri had called all of the Seven outside New York minutes after Illium's fall, to ensure they heard the truth, not rumor.
"He hasn't woken," Dmitri told him two hours before his and Andromeda's planned departure. "But the healer says this is a natural sleep." Grim relief. "He'll likely wake while you're en route. I'll let you know the instant he does."
His own relief clawing at him, Naasir said, "The Hummingbird?" Naasir didn't have a mother, but he liked Illium's. She was soft and kind and even before she'd had her own son, she'd been gentle with Naasir.
During art lessons at school, she hadn't even minded if he used his hands to paint, or if he made a mess. "She'll be scared." The Hummingbird hadn't always been so fragile, but Naasir knew to be careful with her now; she was wounded inside.
"I had Jessamy tell her the news in person--she says it's been centuries since she saw the Hummingbird come so violently to life."
"Her cub is hurt."
"Yes. She's on her way to New York."
Hanging up so Dmitri could update Galen and Venom, Naasir told Andromeda the news. He'd snuck into her room after Dmitri's first call and woken her because he couldn't be alone while one of his family was hurt; taking one look at his face, she'd risen to give him a hug.
Now, she hugged him again, her embrace tight. "I'm so glad he's all right."
Holding her close, he rubbed his cheek against her hair and face, calming himself. She petted his back, making soft, soothing sounds that coaxed his muscles to relax. When she drew him to the bed, he went.
They slept the two hours till dawn with their hands entwined, face-to-face, one of Andromeda's wings warm silk over him.