Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 118699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
They were archangels; it was inevitable.
A soft half-smile that held as much sorrow as joy. “Will we begin our dance again?” For an instant, she appeared tired, looking downward again before she lifted her hand and thrust her fingers through her hair. “Do you never wonder if we aren’t meant to be?”
“No.”
Her lips tugged up. “The general is back, I see.” She went to step forward, then frowned, glanced down one more time. “Look.”
Following her gaze, he saw the bleached bones of a bird, the black hollow of its empty eye socket staring up at them. “Your winds must’ve exposed it.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Zanaya sounded distracted as she glanced around, as if expecting to see more bones.
“It’s only a single bird,” he reassured her, and when she scowled, added, “Zani, we were all seeing nightmares around every corner for years after Lijuan. To this day, I flinch every time I pass a small child.” He couldn’t forget, couldn’t erase those memories of a scourge so piteous and horrible.
Features stark, Zanaya said, “Oh, Alexander . . .” and came into his arms. “The answer is yes, I’ll lie with you. I need you. I need us.”
Wanting every moment they could steal for themselves, they flew a short distance to a forest verdant with life and devoid of any mortal or immortal inhabitants. The starry night was their ceiling, her bed his wings. A single magical night before reality crashed into them with the sunrise.
He stroked every curve, kissed every inch of skin, loved her until his scent was on her and hers on him. But it wasn’t carnal. There was too much tenderness. Too much trust.
“I lost a quarter of my forces in the aftermath,” he told her as he leaned over her while she lay on her back on his wing. “My warriors were broken, wanted to retreat from the world. How could I blame them when I feel the same heart-sorrow?”
Her eyes shone, his Zani who’d always had a far gentler heart than most people realized.
“I wish the memories didn’t haunt me,” he confessed, “but it’s a fitting memorial that they do—because there are no graves for those children, no memorial but this.”
Wiping away a tear, Zanaya spoke in a husky voice. “You’ve grown wise in ten years.” She kissed his fingertips, then lifted his hand to trace the lines on it as she’d done when they’d first become lovers. “A mortal I once knew told me that our lives are written in these lines.”
“Did he read your palm?”
“Yes. He told me I’d have one great love in my lifetime.” A kiss pressed to his palm. “There are no splits at all in my love line.” Narrowing her eyes, she stared intently at his palm. “Just as well I spy no splits in yours either, General.”
When he shifted to kiss the rounded curves of her cheeks, she smiled, stroked his bare shoulders, and said, “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever known.”
He felt his face go hot. He, Archangel Alexander, was blushing. It made her laugh and kiss his face all over, her hands so loving and tender on him that he let her. As he let her love him in turn, her hands exploring all the ridges and valleys of him, her lips a delicate benediction.
They fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, one of her hands on his heart, and one of her legs thrown over his. He closed his wing over her, holding her close, his Zani who’d returned to him and who he’d never again let go.
Lovers fall and lovers rise. The river stops flowing. This time will be the end.
“Did you hear that?” Zanaya murmured, her voice drugged with rest.
Stroking his hand over her hair, Alexander said, “It’s nothing. A dream.” That was all he’d allow it to be, he thought as sleep sucked him under.
Our river will never stop flowing. Our love will never end. They were his final thoughts before he fell into the deep.
Above them, the tree branches rustled, the air a sigh.
Had Alexander been awake, he might’ve seen a ghostly white owl take to the air, its flight as silent as the heart of midnight.
34
Cassandra should’ve been at rest.
She’d done her duty by one of her charges. Zanaya was safe.
But the slipstreams screamed at her to look, to see!
Breath shallow and her owls restless, she battled not to hear the screams, battled not to see the spread of rot. Because that putrid death continued to dominate the slipstreams, the single other thread yet thin, fragile.
A breath. A stir.
She frowned, but her owls reassured her that her other Sleepers rested yet.
Astaad, Archangel of the Pacific Isles.
Favashi, Archangel of Persia for a heartbeat in eternity.
Michaela, Archangel of Budapest and Queen of Constantinople.
All lay silent and motionless, their lives caught in a knot in the slipstream that wouldn’t unravel, not while the rot spread its putrefaction. But the breath came again, small and stealthy and almost impossible to hear.