Archangel's Enigma
Page 101
“Your wings need rest to heal properly,” he told her with a scowl. “The distance you’d have to fly to follow my overland path will only put more pressure on them.”
She didn’t want to be separated from him, but knew he was right. So she flew high in the sky, the ticking clock inside her growing louder with each wingbeat. She understood now that Naasir would never reject her—he wasn’t built that way. He’d claimed her and he’d keep her no matter what. But he couldn’t fight an eon of tradition, tradition that kept everyone safe. If she defected to another territory and the archangel in question didn’t return her to Charisemnon, it would break a visceral taboo.
Even enemies did not steal children from one another. It was simply not acceptable.
Her tears whipped away by the wind, she flew until her wings ached, the sky around her starry velvet. She reached the mountains of the Refuge sometime in the hours between dark and dawn. Flying low, she tried to search for Naasir’s secret home in the forests below, but it was too well hidden, a place he alone could show her.
She landed with stealth once in the Refuge itself, made her way not to her suite in Raphael’s stronghold, but to the aerie she had along the cliff edge. Everything in her body ached, but the worst pain was in her heart. Already, she missed Naasir. Even with his ferocious speed, it would take him at least a day to arrive overland.
Drawing a bath, she sat in it with her arms locked tightly around her knees, trying desperately to think of a way out of the trap in which she was stuck. Nothing. Freedom could come only at Charisemnon’s hand.
Her mouth twisted: Charisemnon expected his blood to do its “duty.”
Getting out on that bleak truth, she dried off, then forced herself to sleep. She didn’t want to waste a minute she could have with Naasir, wanted to be strong and rested when he arrived.
Her enforced rest took her through to midday.
So many hours yet to pass.
Unwilling to speak to anyone else, she stayed in her suite and did the painful task of cataloging any outstanding projects. It would make it easier for Jessamy when Andromeda left, not to return for five hundred years.
Time passed at a snail’s pace when she wanted it to race.
Night fell at long last, whispered past midnight into the quietness when the entire world seemed asleep.
Throat tight at the thought of seeing Naasir again, she changed into a pair of simple black pants and a pretty pink tunic embroidered with fine blue thread around the vee of the neckline. She left her hair to do what it would, just pushed it away from the sides of her face using two jeweled combs Jessamy had gifted her.
Naasir liked her hair down.
Walking to stand on the cliffs, she watched for a familiar prowling stride, for a glint of silver under starlight. Only after she’d been watching for two hours did she realize Naasir might go straight to his home rather than coming here.
Her stomach dropped.
They had so little time and if she missed tonight, there would be no more nights. Tomorrow, she had to leave for Africa. “Naasir,” she whispered into the wind. “I’m waiting for you. Please come.”
As if he’d heard, he appeared in the distance, loping easily over the stone of the mountain. Her nose grew stuffy, her eyes gritty. Seeing her, he lifted his arm before disappearing from sight. It didn’t matter. She knew where he was going. Lifting off, she flew to the spot where a delicate stone bridge connected the two sides of the gorge.
He was already on it, and jumped dangerously high to catch her ankle and haul her down as she hovered above him. “Naasir!” Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Drenched in sweat and with heat coming off his skin, he was wild and beautiful and she wanted him so very, very badly. “Are you sure you don’t want to take me up on my offer?” she whispered in agonizing hope.
He rubbed his nose over hers. “I will. You owe me many bed favors for my frustration and patience.” That last was said on an impatient growl. “But I will collect the right way.”
“What if you don’t find it in time?”
“I’m good at finding things.” Snapping his teeth at her, he said, “I want to bathe.”
Leading him to her aerie, she drew him inside and shut the door. She had a scholar’s home, full of books and art, and he was a beautiful, not-at-all-tame creature who didn’t appear to belong. Then he tugged off his jacket, sweater, and T-shirt, and threw them on a chair as he kicked off his boots and socks, and suddenly, it was as if he’d always lived here.
He found his way to the bathing room without her help, since she was too tongue-tied at seeing the sleek, muscled beauty of him to give him directions. Leaving the door open, he said, “You ran the water.”
She could hear rustling as he got out of his jeans. “Yes.” Her throat was so dry she had to cough to clear it. “It was two hours ago, but I ran it close to boiling, so you should only need a touch more hot water to warm it up.”
A splash of sound as he got in. “It’s warm enough. The stone keeps it that way.”
About as able to resist him as a child could a sweet, she walked to the doorway and looked inside. He was dunking his head and when he came up, he shot her a sinful smile. “Come wash my back, Andi.”
Andromeda didn’t even attempt to deny him, deny them both. Not only did she run the soap over his back, she washed his hair, massaging his scalp until he purred, his eyes lazily closed. The stripes were visible under his skin again, fine fur delicate under her fingertips when she explored his nape and shoulders.
“What are you thinking?” His lashes snapped up, nostrils flaring. “Your smell changed.”
She didn’t want to be separated from him, but knew he was right. So she flew high in the sky, the ticking clock inside her growing louder with each wingbeat. She understood now that Naasir would never reject her—he wasn’t built that way. He’d claimed her and he’d keep her no matter what. But he couldn’t fight an eon of tradition, tradition that kept everyone safe. If she defected to another territory and the archangel in question didn’t return her to Charisemnon, it would break a visceral taboo.
Even enemies did not steal children from one another. It was simply not acceptable.
Her tears whipped away by the wind, she flew until her wings ached, the sky around her starry velvet. She reached the mountains of the Refuge sometime in the hours between dark and dawn. Flying low, she tried to search for Naasir’s secret home in the forests below, but it was too well hidden, a place he alone could show her.
She landed with stealth once in the Refuge itself, made her way not to her suite in Raphael’s stronghold, but to the aerie she had along the cliff edge. Everything in her body ached, but the worst pain was in her heart. Already, she missed Naasir. Even with his ferocious speed, it would take him at least a day to arrive overland.
Drawing a bath, she sat in it with her arms locked tightly around her knees, trying desperately to think of a way out of the trap in which she was stuck. Nothing. Freedom could come only at Charisemnon’s hand.
Her mouth twisted: Charisemnon expected his blood to do its “duty.”
Getting out on that bleak truth, she dried off, then forced herself to sleep. She didn’t want to waste a minute she could have with Naasir, wanted to be strong and rested when he arrived.
Her enforced rest took her through to midday.
So many hours yet to pass.
Unwilling to speak to anyone else, she stayed in her suite and did the painful task of cataloging any outstanding projects. It would make it easier for Jessamy when Andromeda left, not to return for five hundred years.
Time passed at a snail’s pace when she wanted it to race.
Night fell at long last, whispered past midnight into the quietness when the entire world seemed asleep.
Throat tight at the thought of seeing Naasir again, she changed into a pair of simple black pants and a pretty pink tunic embroidered with fine blue thread around the vee of the neckline. She left her hair to do what it would, just pushed it away from the sides of her face using two jeweled combs Jessamy had gifted her.
Naasir liked her hair down.
Walking to stand on the cliffs, she watched for a familiar prowling stride, for a glint of silver under starlight. Only after she’d been watching for two hours did she realize Naasir might go straight to his home rather than coming here.
Her stomach dropped.
They had so little time and if she missed tonight, there would be no more nights. Tomorrow, she had to leave for Africa. “Naasir,” she whispered into the wind. “I’m waiting for you. Please come.”
As if he’d heard, he appeared in the distance, loping easily over the stone of the mountain. Her nose grew stuffy, her eyes gritty. Seeing her, he lifted his arm before disappearing from sight. It didn’t matter. She knew where he was going. Lifting off, she flew to the spot where a delicate stone bridge connected the two sides of the gorge.
He was already on it, and jumped dangerously high to catch her ankle and haul her down as she hovered above him. “Naasir!” Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Drenched in sweat and with heat coming off his skin, he was wild and beautiful and she wanted him so very, very badly. “Are you sure you don’t want to take me up on my offer?” she whispered in agonizing hope.
He rubbed his nose over hers. “I will. You owe me many bed favors for my frustration and patience.” That last was said on an impatient growl. “But I will collect the right way.”
“What if you don’t find it in time?”
“I’m good at finding things.” Snapping his teeth at her, he said, “I want to bathe.”
Leading him to her aerie, she drew him inside and shut the door. She had a scholar’s home, full of books and art, and he was a beautiful, not-at-all-tame creature who didn’t appear to belong. Then he tugged off his jacket, sweater, and T-shirt, and threw them on a chair as he kicked off his boots and socks, and suddenly, it was as if he’d always lived here.
He found his way to the bathing room without her help, since she was too tongue-tied at seeing the sleek, muscled beauty of him to give him directions. Leaving the door open, he said, “You ran the water.”
She could hear rustling as he got out of his jeans. “Yes.” Her throat was so dry she had to cough to clear it. “It was two hours ago, but I ran it close to boiling, so you should only need a touch more hot water to warm it up.”
A splash of sound as he got in. “It’s warm enough. The stone keeps it that way.”
About as able to resist him as a child could a sweet, she walked to the doorway and looked inside. He was dunking his head and when he came up, he shot her a sinful smile. “Come wash my back, Andi.”
Andromeda didn’t even attempt to deny him, deny them both. Not only did she run the soap over his back, she washed his hair, massaging his scalp until he purred, his eyes lazily closed. The stripes were visible under his skin again, fine fur delicate under her fingertips when she explored his nape and shoulders.
“What are you thinking?” His lashes snapped up, nostrils flaring. “Your smell changed.”
