As she looked at him, this archangel with wings of deep green streaked with wild blue, Sharine felt both a deep rumble of anger and a crashing sense of relief. She saw him now, would always see him. Aegaeon would never again fool her, and with that realization went a fear she hadn’t even realized she was carrying.
She was so glad he’d bequeathed nothing much more than a little of his coloring and a touch of his power to their son, so glad that he’d left the raising of Illium to her. Her boy would never be cruel, never purposefully cause others pain. Illium was more akin to Titus than he was to Aegaeon.
Neha was the one who first understood the import of Titus’s words. “Does your question to Aegaeon have anything to do with why you’ve called an emergency meeting when none of us have time to spare?”
“Yes. I’ve discovered evidence of a reborn angel.”
Silence.
It was Raphael who broke it. “You’re certain?” The searing blue of his eyes was locked on Titus; today, he had no Elena beside him, his consort no doubt in the city helping to handle the chaos left behind by war.
Elena and Raphael were equals when it came to their relationship. One an archangel and one an angel barely born, yet it was true. The times that she’d seen them together, never had Sharine seen dominance and submission, an alpha and a beta. Together, they were simply two people who loved each other.
Her gaze went to Titus, this arrogant, beautiful, honorable archangel who valued her opinion enough to invite her to this meeting . . . and who hadn’t thrown off her touch when she sought to offer comfort, had instead curled his fingers around hers and held on.
29
“As certain as I can be without the results from my scientists,” Titus said, then described the site, the burned-out body of the angel, and the evidence of the clawlike hand. “Lady Sharine was with me and she took photographs—they’re being loaded onto the screens now.”
“What was she doing there?” Aegaeon demanded, the golden hue of his skin stretched over bone as he raged. “I’ve been told she’s extremely fragile, her mind fractured.”
Even as Sharine’s temper ignited, Titus proceeded to ignore him.
Temper morphing into humor, she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle the urge to laugh. If there was one thing Aegaeon couldn’t stand, it was to be ignored.
Restrain yourself, Shari. A repressive order . . . given in an amused tone.
“Look with your own eyes,” he said aloud after the photographs were all available. “None of us need scientific confirmation to know those are angelic wing bones.”
More silence, though she could see Aegaeon’s face growing hot from within. That flush of red at the very tops of his cheekbones, it was a dead giveaway to a rising temper. Be careful, Titus, she warned. Aegaeon is about to blow.
If you believe that I’m afeared of a temper tantrum from a doddering Ancient, you don’t know me at all.
She almost snorted in laughter this time. If only Aegaeon could’ve heard himself being referred to as a doddering Ancient. On the other hand—I’m of a similar vintage. As so poignantly demonstrated by her earlier memory of Alexander and Caliane. She’d forgotten her age; she’d lived too long, had too many memories in her head. All she knew was that she was old, had been old for a long time.
You don’t feel old.
Titus’s response was a molten kiss. She didn’t feel old, either; she’d felt strangely young ever since her new awakening. As if she’d been given a second chance to soar.
“I respect you, Titus,” Alexander said, and in that patrician face, Sharine noted new lines of pain. “But I hope you’re wrong. If this disease has crossed the immortal boundary, then we’re fighting a battle we may never be able to win.”
Raphael was quiet, but Sharine saw a certain distance in his eyes. She thought he must be thinking back to what the Legion had told him—the story of a disease that had bound itself permanently into the cells of angelkind, a toxin that lived in each and every one of them to this day.
“I hope I’m wrong, too.” Titus ran a hand over his hair. “Unfortunately, from what we’ve discovered of what Charisemnon was up to behind the closed doors of his court, our hopes are unlikely to bear fruit.”
He opened his wings, then snapped them shut. “I haven’t shared everything of what we found in his court because we’re all finding horrors. But this is relevant to our current discussion—Charisemnon was experimenting on people in his own court. Specifically on angels.”
A hiss of sound from Alexander. “He dared cross that line?”
“He crossed it when he used his Cascade-born power to kill angels in my territory.” Raphael’s voice was brutal, no give in it at all. “I think we can all agree that he had no honor left in him. Neither did Lijuan.”
Neha, who was at odds with Raphael for reasons Sharine hadn’t yet remembered, said, “In this we agree.” Hands on her hips, she looked at Titus. “Do you need assistance?”
“Yes.” Suyin spoke for the first time, her voice haunted and haunting, and her uptilted eyes obsidian against skin as white as snow. “Neha is right—this threat supersedes all others. If you need us, we will come.”
No one raised their voice in disagreement.
“Right now, I only have evidence of a single reborn angel,” Titus said. “Should that change, I’ll send out an alert, but for now you can do more good in your own territories.” He shifted his attention to Alexander. “Our borders are the closest. I would speak to you after this meeting is over.”
Alexander gave a curt nod.
“As we are all here—all seven of us,” Neha said with a twist of her mouth, “is there any other business to discuss?”
Qin, an archangel with eyes that echoed the beauty of an aurora, and wings the shade of a smudged sunrise, whites segueing to soft pink, parted his lips. “It appears that despite Astaad’s best efforts—and I cast no aspersions on his honor or courage, for he fought valiantly—he didn’t manage to eliminate the poisonous insects from his territory.”
His territory.
It was telling that Qin hadn’t yet claimed ownership of the Pacific Isles. Most archangels wouldn’t have hesitated, even if it was a temporary posting. He really isn’t part of our world, is he? There was something preternatural about Qin, a kind of haunted grace to him.
He has no choice but to be, Titus responded with rough frankness. The Cadre is running with seven right now, one of them a brand-new archangel. My spies in the Pacific say Qin has worked tirelessly since taking up Astaad’s mantle.
Sharine thought it was because Qin just wanted to go back to Sleep. The faster he cleaned up the mess left behind by war, the faster he could retreat. Now, the silken ebony of his hair shone like jet, his cheekbones sharp slices against his skin as he continued to speak.
“It takes multiple bites to kill a vampire, but mortals are more susceptible.” Pain, such pain in him. “I have no choice. After evacuating the uninfected onto a quarantine ship, I will have to sterilize three affected islands.”
“You mean a burning with archangelic fire?” Aegaeon’s brash tones—but his next words were of an archangel. “Such will turn the islands into a wasteland for a long period. You’re certain it’s the only possible option?”
That was the thing with Aegaeon, part of what had first enchanted her. He was a good archangel, one who took his responsibilities seriously. But that honor hadn’t stretched to a blue-winged little boy who’d idolized him.
No matter how long she lived, Sharine would never forgive him for that. He’d broken her mischievous, laughing boy’s heart, and for what? Because he couldn’t be bothered to stay awake just a few more decades? Decades were nothing in the span of an Ancient’s life, mere drops in an ocean.