“Shari! I’m waiting!”

“And I’m in a position to drop something on your head!”

Throwing back his head, he laughed. His next words were in her mind, his voice resonant and beautiful. I’m going to eat. Will you join me, or will you throw knives with your tongue?

As she watched, he flew up and to the right of her own balcony. He was beautiful in motion and she flushed when he landed and almost caught her staring. “Sharine?”

“I’m coming.”

Since his rooms were right next to hers and he’d left his door open, she walked in without knocking. She didn’t know what she’d expected of his private quarters, but this entrance section was warm in its embrace, decorated with a huge earthen-colored rug and equally large and comfortable seating.

Nothing had sharp edges except for the weapons he’d mounted on the walls. All were unique, from different times and places. He also had art on those walls, leaning toward paintings that spoke of the vibrant heart of this land. She was drawn to one in particular—ink on textile done in the same tones of earth and sunset that dominated this part of his quarters.

“The art appreciation can wait.” Titus stood in the wide doorway to the balcony, his arms crossed and his lips curved. “Come, Shari, the food will get cold.”

A single glance and she was in danger of a hot flush. Standing there like that, with the light from the courtyard backlighting his body and his skin aglow with health beneath the sleeveless dark brown tunic he’d thrown on, he was the embodiment of fantasies she’d had as a young girl—when she’d still believed in the foolishness of passionate attraction and lived for the thrill of a rapidly beating heart.

In front of her, his expression turned intimate . . . welcoming, and she knew he wouldn’t reject her should she decide to cross the room and rise up on her toes to touch her mouth to his, her hands flush against the muscled ridges of his chest.

Even as her blood turned to honey, she knew it wasn’t just physical, what had taken root between them. The days they’d spent together on the journey to the settlement and back, the hours they’d spent speaking to one another, it had altered their relationship on a fundamental level.

“There’s always time for art appreciation,” she said, but walked toward him—she had to always stay conscious of her propensity to hide inside art. Art was safe. Art didn’t demand. Art didn’t look at you in a way that made embers smolder in your stomach. And art didn’t hurt you in the way people hurt you. “But I am hungry.”

Titus angled his body so she could pass, and though the doorway was wide and he made no attempt to hinder her, she felt buffeted by the wall of strength and heat that was his body. Spine stiff, she took care that her wings didn’t brush him as she walked out.

If she had to be attracted to a man, why did it have to be someone so big and brash and beautiful? It wasn’t any longer about comparing him to Aegaeon. The two might have surface similarities, but she wasn’t foolish—she’d seen the heart of Titus now and that heart was bigger than Aegaeon’s would ever be.

No, it was because of Titus, who he was—this man would leave a mark on her life if she let him in, and Sharine already had far too many scars within. She had to decide if it was worth chancing another for a fleeting slice of pleasure.

I’ve never made promises of forever. Any woman who comes into my arms understands that I offer only pleasure and affection.

Sharine didn’t want forever, wasn’t sure she’d ever again be in a place where she could trust enough to offer her heart. On the flip side, however, she also wasn’t sure she was built for quick dalliances.

How do you know? asked the part of her that had been getting more and more mouthy of late. It’s not as if you’ve ever tried it. Take a risk, dance with Titus. You’re tough enough now to pick up the pieces—if there are any pieces to pick up in the first place.

You’re not who you once were, Sharine. Take the risk.

32

When Titus pulled out her chair for her, she was startled to see a scowl mar his smile. Had he picked up on her discomfort and uncertainty? She’d hope she was a better guest than that—but Titus, she was learning, had more sensitivity than the majority of the world realized; never would she forget his internal struggle as he readied himself to wipe the villagers’ minds.

“I see we are to starve.” The table was piled with dishes upon dishes, all of them steaming and aromatic, but that wasn’t why she made the comment—she found she didn’t like it when Titus went quiet, and as he seemed unable to resist responding to sarcasm or dry words on her part, she’d use it to break his mood.

“I told you, I’m hungry—and I have a cook who signed on to feed an archangel’s court but is now managing troop meals. The man can’t help himself,” he grumbled and picked up a dish. “Try this. You’ll like it.”

Wondering if his mood resulted from hunger, she took a spoonful. When he stared at the tiny amount on her plate, she rolled her eyes. “I want to taste all the dishes and I won’t be able to do that if I stuff myself on the first one.”

Not appearing convinced in the least, he nonetheless began to dish out his own portion while she tried her spoonful. It bloomed an array of fresh and bright flavors on her tongue. Moaning deep in her throat, she glanced up. “I’m not saying you were right, but maybe I should’ve taken more.”

A dazzling smile shattering the scowl, he handed over the bowl . . . even as her breath caught. He was beautiful, with a warmth to him that drew her like a moth to a flame. And while he might flit from woman to woman, he was honest in his attentions. He didn’t lie and make false promises.

Any mark he left wouldn’t be one scored by cruelty.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Another aromatic spoonful placed on her plate. “Eat. You gave away your food during our journey, and you’ll be in the skies again as soon as darkness falls.”

Her stomach chose that moment to growl.

When Titus laughed, the sound a booming wave of joy, she found herself joining in, sparks of delight in her bloodstream. It had been so long since she’d laughed with such open happiness, but being with Titus . . . yes, he made her feel good. He might infuriate and aggravate her, but he never made her feel lesser or unimportant.

They ate in friendly harmony for the next fifteen minutes, passing each other dishes, and having a little of that, a lot of that, until their stomachs were sated to the point that conversation was possible. “You slept?” she asked, as he refilled his plate.

She could tell he hadn’t eaten properly for too long—she could see it in the sharpness of his cheekbones, the subtle leanness of his torso. It could happen that way with the incredibly powerful—a sudden physical shift when they burned too hot.

And Titus would be running at this pace for some time to come.

Picking up a dish he’d particularly enjoyed, she held it out. She’d never again wait on any man, but she was a woman who took care of her people, and she wouldn’t permit Aegaeon to steal that part of her nature—especially given that Titus would feed her to the brim if she permitted it.

Creases forming in his cheeks and light in his eyes, Titus accepted the dish. “Asante, Shari.”

She had no trouble recognizing the language. “You’re welcome.”

“I did sleep and you were right, I feel much better for it.” A scowl. “Don’t say ‘I told you so.’ I get quite enough of that from my sisters.”

“Why have I not heard more about your sisters?” It was true she didn’t pay much attention to casual gossip, but surely she should’ve heard of the family of an archangel.

“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?”