Archangel's Enigma
Page 76
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He couldn’t blame them for not worrying about a climbing foe.
Naasir was one of a kind after all.
He was on top of them now, but they were scattered far enough apart that no one could take them all at once. It also, however, meant he only needed to handle one at a time. Focusing on the desert camouflage–clad male directly below, his hair covered in a dusty brown scarf tied at the back of his head and dull brown and green stripes on his face from camo paint, Naasir didn’t hesitate.
He dropped down, taking the sentinel to the ground with an arm pushed up against his throat so he couldn’t cry out. “We are not the enemy,” he said in the male’s ear. “We are here to warn Alexander.”
The man attempted to break free. Gritting his teeth, Naasir did the only thing he could and knocked him out. He did the same to two others before the sentinels suddenly realized they had a predator in their midst.
“Up!”
The order was vocal. Naasir crouched flat on his current branch . . . then realized they were reacting not to him, but to the wings beating in the distance. Moving with stealth, he angled his head just enough to look up.
The wings that came into view less than three seconds later were not ones he wanted to see. Below him, Alexander’s sentinels crouched down, crossbows pointed up at the flyers clad in dark gray uniforms bearing red accents, but they didn’t shoot.
Good.
If Lijuan’s people were just doing a flyby—likely after someone spotted the swarm—then the best thing to do was to lie low and not give them a reason to believe the area was in any way interesting. The squadron did multiple passes, until well past the dawn. Naasir, Andromeda, and the sentinels remained silent and unmoving throughout.
Even when the squadron landed near the village, no one moved. The sentinels’ family members were no doubt trained to act innocent under questioning or the secret would’ve never held so long—and if Naasir judged these men and women right, even the noncombatants would’ve been taught to fight well enough to protect themselves until the sentinels could get back to them. It was over an hour later, the morning sun bright in the sky, that the squadron finally took off, their wingbeats disappearing into the distance.
It left Naasir, Andromeda, and the sentinels in the same position they’d been in before the squadron’s arrival.
Andromeda’s voice rang out into the silence. “We’re with Raphael! That squadron was wearing Lijuan’s colors in case you missed it! Raphael’s mortal enemy!”
The sentinels below Naasir didn’t move, but a deep male voice came from the left. Speaking the same well-known local dialect as used by Andromeda, he said, “This land is forbidden to outsiders. Leave.”
“We can’t. Lijuan is coming to kill your archangel.”
A pause before the speaker’s voice came again. “We will listen. Face-to-face.”
“Swear on Alexander’s honor that you will do us no harm!”
This time the pause was longer, more potent, but when the voice came, it was resolute. “On Alexander’s honor.”
Naasir had made it to the speaker by then, a tall and husky male vampire with tanned skin and hair hidden under the same kind of scarf as Naasir had noticed on several others. He dropped down right behind the man who had to be the leader of the sentinels, a deliberate choice to ensure the other male didn’t attempt to treat them as prey.
The sentinel whirled around, pale gray eyes glinting and crossbow held up and pointed at Naasir’s heart.
33
“The silver-eyed beast.” Despite the description, the leader’s voice held no insult as he lowered his weapon. “How many of my men did you kill?”
“None—there was no need.” Naasir shrugged. “They’ll have headaches when they wake if they haven’t already. You should remind them never to forget to look up, even if there are no wings in the sky.”
A slight incline of the leader’s head. “A point well made.”
Andromeda appeared out of the trees right then, her dark brown pants dusty and the paler brown of her fitted tunic bearing a streak of dirt. Her eyes went to Naasir, skimmed over him, the tense lines of her only easing once she’d taken in his uninjured state. Naasir wanted to preen at having a mate who cared, and he wanted to nuzzle at her to ease her worry. He also wanted to run his hands over every inch of her to confirm that she, too, was unhurt.
“So,” she said, sword held out at her side and eyes on the sentinel leader, “we’re all here and not attempting to kill one another. Why don’t we go back to the village? I need some coffee.”
Naasir didn’t dispute her suggestion. Until they convinced the sentinels of their intent, they’d get exactly nowhere. “You know who I am,” he said to the leader of the sentinels. “This is Andromeda.”
“I am Tarek,” the other man replied, his skin smooth over angular cheekbones and his jaw shadowed with dark stubble. “We will head to the village, but do any harm to the villagers and our agreement is void.” When he pulled down the scarf to allow it to lie loosely around his neck, his hair proved to be not black but a dark brown threaded with gold.
“We have no cause to harm anyone,” Andromeda said and the three of them walked back to the village, the other sentinels no doubt at their backs.
The villagers looked at them with wide eyes when they walked in, though a barefoot child with dark hair and skin not many shades lighter than Naasir’s, ran straight for Tarek. “Grandpapa!”
The vampire, who looked no older than his third decade and yet who was likely not “grandpapa” but great-grandpapa many times removed, picked up the little girl without breaking his stride and held her with an ease that shouted familiarity. The child peered curiously at Naasir. Her eyes were the same light gray as those of her living ancestor.
Naasir was one of a kind after all.
He was on top of them now, but they were scattered far enough apart that no one could take them all at once. It also, however, meant he only needed to handle one at a time. Focusing on the desert camouflage–clad male directly below, his hair covered in a dusty brown scarf tied at the back of his head and dull brown and green stripes on his face from camo paint, Naasir didn’t hesitate.
He dropped down, taking the sentinel to the ground with an arm pushed up against his throat so he couldn’t cry out. “We are not the enemy,” he said in the male’s ear. “We are here to warn Alexander.”
The man attempted to break free. Gritting his teeth, Naasir did the only thing he could and knocked him out. He did the same to two others before the sentinels suddenly realized they had a predator in their midst.
“Up!”
The order was vocal. Naasir crouched flat on his current branch . . . then realized they were reacting not to him, but to the wings beating in the distance. Moving with stealth, he angled his head just enough to look up.
The wings that came into view less than three seconds later were not ones he wanted to see. Below him, Alexander’s sentinels crouched down, crossbows pointed up at the flyers clad in dark gray uniforms bearing red accents, but they didn’t shoot.
Good.
If Lijuan’s people were just doing a flyby—likely after someone spotted the swarm—then the best thing to do was to lie low and not give them a reason to believe the area was in any way interesting. The squadron did multiple passes, until well past the dawn. Naasir, Andromeda, and the sentinels remained silent and unmoving throughout.
Even when the squadron landed near the village, no one moved. The sentinels’ family members were no doubt trained to act innocent under questioning or the secret would’ve never held so long—and if Naasir judged these men and women right, even the noncombatants would’ve been taught to fight well enough to protect themselves until the sentinels could get back to them. It was over an hour later, the morning sun bright in the sky, that the squadron finally took off, their wingbeats disappearing into the distance.
It left Naasir, Andromeda, and the sentinels in the same position they’d been in before the squadron’s arrival.
Andromeda’s voice rang out into the silence. “We’re with Raphael! That squadron was wearing Lijuan’s colors in case you missed it! Raphael’s mortal enemy!”
The sentinels below Naasir didn’t move, but a deep male voice came from the left. Speaking the same well-known local dialect as used by Andromeda, he said, “This land is forbidden to outsiders. Leave.”
“We can’t. Lijuan is coming to kill your archangel.”
A pause before the speaker’s voice came again. “We will listen. Face-to-face.”
“Swear on Alexander’s honor that you will do us no harm!”
This time the pause was longer, more potent, but when the voice came, it was resolute. “On Alexander’s honor.”
Naasir had made it to the speaker by then, a tall and husky male vampire with tanned skin and hair hidden under the same kind of scarf as Naasir had noticed on several others. He dropped down right behind the man who had to be the leader of the sentinels, a deliberate choice to ensure the other male didn’t attempt to treat them as prey.
The sentinel whirled around, pale gray eyes glinting and crossbow held up and pointed at Naasir’s heart.
33
“The silver-eyed beast.” Despite the description, the leader’s voice held no insult as he lowered his weapon. “How many of my men did you kill?”
“None—there was no need.” Naasir shrugged. “They’ll have headaches when they wake if they haven’t already. You should remind them never to forget to look up, even if there are no wings in the sky.”
A slight incline of the leader’s head. “A point well made.”
Andromeda appeared out of the trees right then, her dark brown pants dusty and the paler brown of her fitted tunic bearing a streak of dirt. Her eyes went to Naasir, skimmed over him, the tense lines of her only easing once she’d taken in his uninjured state. Naasir wanted to preen at having a mate who cared, and he wanted to nuzzle at her to ease her worry. He also wanted to run his hands over every inch of her to confirm that she, too, was unhurt.
“So,” she said, sword held out at her side and eyes on the sentinel leader, “we’re all here and not attempting to kill one another. Why don’t we go back to the village? I need some coffee.”
Naasir didn’t dispute her suggestion. Until they convinced the sentinels of their intent, they’d get exactly nowhere. “You know who I am,” he said to the leader of the sentinels. “This is Andromeda.”
“I am Tarek,” the other man replied, his skin smooth over angular cheekbones and his jaw shadowed with dark stubble. “We will head to the village, but do any harm to the villagers and our agreement is void.” When he pulled down the scarf to allow it to lie loosely around his neck, his hair proved to be not black but a dark brown threaded with gold.
“We have no cause to harm anyone,” Andromeda said and the three of them walked back to the village, the other sentinels no doubt at their backs.
The villagers looked at them with wide eyes when they walked in, though a barefoot child with dark hair and skin not many shades lighter than Naasir’s, ran straight for Tarek. “Grandpapa!”
The vampire, who looked no older than his third decade and yet who was likely not “grandpapa” but great-grandpapa many times removed, picked up the little girl without breaking his stride and held her with an ease that shouted familiarity. The child peered curiously at Naasir. Her eyes were the same light gray as those of her living ancestor.
