“Probably because they’re so much older.” He took a long drink of ale. “I suppose those who don’t know us believe that, with such a difference in age, we mustn’t be close.” A grin. “As if the first general would permit anything but full cohesion in her personal family squadron.”
Her lips curved. “You’re very proud of your mother.”
“Yes.” He put a choice bit of meat on her plate. “I’m also happy she’s currently Sleeping. A man needs a break from mothering every few millennia. Of course, with my sisters taking up the cause, I’m not so sure I’m better off.”
Fascinated, she waited for him to go on.
“One thing is certain—under no circumstance will I let my mother join my army when she wakes, though she is a brilliant general who is feted by others,” he added, brow dark. “She’d probably tell me all my strategies were wrong, and also ask me why I wasn’t wearing a shirt.”
Sharine wanted to laugh, but wasn’t about to break the moment.
“Alexander is ready to take her back with open arms any time she wakes—and once there, she’ll no doubt slay half his court with her magnetic presence.” A huge grin, the sun slamming into her with brilliant force. “I inherited my charm from her. We both must beat off suitors with a stick.”
Sharine narrowed her eyes. “Once again, I’m blinded by your modesty.”
Her dry comment just made his grin deepen . . . and her stomach drop. Because oh, he was unrepentant and bright and he loved. That was one of the most attractive things about Titus. He might mutter about his sisters and mother, but that he loved them was a candle flame in his heart she could almost see.
“My father was so spent by his time with my mother that he has been Sleeping since I was seven hundred years old.” A chuckle. “Before he went to Sleep, he told me she’d worn him out and it was glorious. Now he must recover.”
Her lips twitched, he was being so consciously wicked.
Eyes sparkling at her, he leaned forward. “She stayed with him some seventy-five years. She fell with child five decades into it.”
Shadows in her heart, memories of another little boy with parents who hadn’t been bound throughout his childhood. “Did you grow up with your mother?”
“My mother, my father, my sisters, their loves, the entire damn lot of them.” He groaned. “My father bought a home right next to my mother, and so we were a family even after they were no longer lovers.” More love in his voice, open and proud. “He’s a warrior, too, and between them, they taught me how to wield a sword before I could fly.”
The shadows burned away under the searing warmth of his voice. “Surely, with such a mother, more of your siblings must be warriors.”
“Our mother always told us to be true to our nature, to be honest in the path we chose to walk.” Again, such love and respect in every word. “Zuri and Nala are squadron commanders in Alexander’s army. You know of Charo. Phenie is a musician.”
“Oh!” She gasped. “Phenie? Your sister is Phenie?” One of the most celebrated harpists in all of angelkind. “Goodness, Titus, talent runs strong and fierce in your family.”
“Do you know how much harp music I had to listen to growing up?” His groan vibrated in her bones. “Every time she babysat me, it was harp, harp, harp. Phenie says she was attempting to soothe the feral beast that was her little brother, constantly jumping on the furniture and flying from the chandeliers, and diving off balconies.”
Laughter spilled from her as he reached for the tankard of ale at his elbow and, head tilted slightly back, drank it down in long, hard swallows.
His throat moved, the tendons strong against his skin.
Toes curling and stomach tight, she picked up her own tankard and took a drink. It was potent, burning fire into her guts. But she liked that, liked that it cleared her mind and brought her back to her senses. Until by the time Titus put his tankard down and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, she had herself under control.
Yet her voice came out husky when she said, “I think I would very much like to meet your sisters.”
Titus knew all four would love her. Not the distant and admired Hummingbird, but Sharine, as she was now. Brilliant with life and energy and with a subtle but undeniable sensuality of which she seemed unaware, but he’d very definitely noticed. The way she ran her fingers over different-textured surfaces from velvet to wood, the way she drew in scents, her eyes fluttering half-shut as she lost herself to the sensation, and the way she sometimes watched him as if she’d like to take a bite out of him.
Titus wasn’t unwilling in the least. He’d like her artist’s fingers to trace his body and learn his textures, grew hard at the thought of her drawing in then luxuriating in the scent of him, and as for the bite? He’d cup her lower curves and lift her up so she could take that bite directly from his mouth.
The woman was an inferno in a bottle.
No one looking at her would ever guess that she was millennia older than Titus.
His gut clenched again, his shoulders locking. He’d forgotten the age difference as they ate together, only now recalling the long life she’d lived. Far longer than his own. Such things didn’t matter among angels after a few millennia of existence, but for all intents and purposes, Sharine was an Ancient.
A beloved and revered Ancient.
Who’d made him itch to stroke the slope of her back as she passed him in the doorway, and whose laughter rippled over him like stroking hands. His cock had reacted to that same laughter, and to the light in her eyes as she listened to his tales of family with open interest.
She . . . compelled him.
Titus tensed. He was a man with strong carnal appetites, but he had those appetites under strict control. While he loved his mother, he’d seen her lead men around by the cock since he was a child—Titus had no desire to become akin to those lustbound men. No woman with whom he’d ever dallied had come close to wielding such control over him.
Picking up a grape from the platter on the table, Sharine parted her lips to put it inside, and his entire body hummed with need. He was half of a mind to sweep his arm out to smash all the food to the floor, then lift her up and sit her down on the table so he could feast on her instead.
Teeth gritted, he pushed back his chair and stood. “I must return to the patrol. It’s possible we may be able to spot and eliminate entire burrows of reborn while they’re resting.”
Sharine shot him a penetrating look. “Have you heard from your scientists about the reborn angel?”
“Nothing conclusive yet.” Stretching out his wings, he said, “If you don’t wish to work on your art, you’re welcome to use my library.” He was well aware he was lighting the wick of her temper, and yet, despite the danger she presented to him, he couldn’t stop. Crossing swords with Sharine was far too tempting.
Dagger eyes, exactly as he’d planned. “Is it safe to visit Charisemnon’s court?”
Snapping back his wings, he stared at his most uncooperative guest. “Why would you wish to go there?” He’d assumed she’d want to go out with a squadron—and they could use her abilities in the field.
“Not now—in the light hours,” she clarified. “I want to hunt through Charisemnon’s court for anything that might’ve been missed—notes about his experiments, other information.”
On her feet, she put one hand on the back of her chair. “You and your people went in as warriors, to clear enemy territory of dangers. You weren’t looking for notes or information on an angelic disease—and I’m not unskilled at hunting for information.”
Everything inside him rebelled at sending her to that place.