Almost tripping over himself in his haste to strip off his pants, he looked up just in time to see her undo the tie on her hair. A river of gold-tipped black tumbled down her back, almost reaching the curve of her ass.

He hitched on the last word. It seemed a highly inappropriate way to think of the Hummingbird.

But this wasn’t the Hummingbird. This was Sharine, who stepped under the falling water and gave him a look sultry and impatient. He joined her, his hand already on her very fine ass. Turning, she picked up the simple washcloth he preferred over the fripperies his staff occasionally attempted to foist on him, and soaped it up.

Then, as he threw back his head under the cleansing cascade of water, she ran the washcloth over every inch of him she could reach, wiping away the blood and gore and the stain of death. He’d been hard since the moment she entered his suite but his erection was a rigid length of iron by the time she was done.

Closing soapy fingers around it, she stroked.

He gripped her wrist. “Enough torture for now, Shari.”

Laughter full of primal delight and a kiss so reckless that he gripped her hips and hitched her up. She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist. Pressing her back against the simple black tile of his bathing chamber, her wings a dazzle of color, he reached down between her legs to pleasure her . . . only to find her slick in a way that had nothing to do with water.

A groan tore out of him as he broke the kiss to look down, watch his fingers move on her, in her. She clenched around his finger, her hands tight on his head when he bent to suck one dark pink nipple into his mouth.

He could feast on her for days, months, years . . . forever.

Shoving aside the need in his heart and all that it implied, he worked another finger into her. She wrenched up his head. “Enough.” Chest heaving, she kissed him again, all tongue and demand. “I would have you now, Titus.”

He could no more deny her than he could suddenly become a quiet man. Moving backward and out of the water, he sat down on the wide ledge of his bath, with her seated on him, and then he let Sharine take him. He, a warrior archangel who’d never allowed anyone to have him, allowed her whatever it was she wished. She was incredibly tight and at one point, he gripped her at the waist to slow her descent.

“No pain, Shari.” It came out ragged, the pulsing heat of her clenching on the top half of his cock scrambling his mind. “I’ll never cause you pain.”

“I’m just”—a breath—“a little”—another breath—“out of practice.” Pushing away his hands, she put her own on his shoulders and sank home with a soft cry that almost made him lose his seed then and there.

Muscles quivering—he, Titus, quivering—he held motionless as a hunting lion as she adjusted to his length and girth. Her core spasmed around him. It tore a primal and aggressive sound out of him, but Sharine didn’t scare. She slid her hands up his chest as she leaned in to kiss the center of his Cascade tattoo.

He swore the gold of it pulsed.

“You’re perfection in how you’re built,” she said to him. “But more, you have a courage and a heart that beguile me.”

He wanted to preen at the caress of words, but he had his teeth clenched in an effort to find a small measure of control. Cupping her ass, he squeezed, then slid his hands up to cup her breasts, play with her nipples. The champagne of her eyes grew cloudy, her body starting to move on his.

Bending his mouth to her throat, he covered one taut breast with his palm at the same time. His breath was hot against her skin as he said, “I want to devour you in a million ways.” Lick and suck and taste and keep. “I want to make it impossible for you to ever forget Titus, Archangel of Africa.” Raw words spoken so roughly she couldn’t have understood them.

“Titus, Titus, Titus.” Hot little breaths against him, her body moving out of rhythm.

Sweat rolled down his temples, his control ragged and prone to fracturing. Wrapping her up in his arms and in his wings, he took her mouth in a rampantly possessive kiss as she pressed her palms to his chest and pulsed so hard around him that it was the final straw.

One hand on her sweet lower curves, he thrust into her in a rhythm that she reciprocated with a fury, no delicacy or ethereal distance to her. Perspiration dotted her skin, and sexual fire burned in her eyes. She was earthy and real and beautiful beyond compare. When she sighed his name again as her pleasure overcame her in waves that rocked her entire body, he broke into a thousand pieces that only she could put back together.

Titus, Archangel of Africa, had given his heart to Sharine, once the Hummingbird.

46

Sharine looked at the letter in her hand. Once again, it was Trace who’d handed it to her and, once again, the envelope was of expensive and heavy paper. But this bore the seal not of the Cadre, but of Aegaeon.

She stared out at the horizon, toward the south, as she did every evening at sunset. It’d been two weeks since she’d last spoken to Titus; he and his troops had hit a massive cluster of reborn who were no longer obeying the day and night divide—they’d been fighting nonstop for the past fourteen days.

It had been even longer since she’d parted from him in the sky above the thriving heart of Narja. Months of distance. She knew she’d made the right decision in coming to Lumia, as even among angelkind, symbols mattered. It was why Titus wore his armor and why New York’s Archangel Tower was the first structure to be repaired in the city. Right now, Sharine wasn’t just the guardian of their artistic histories and glories, she was the embodiment of angelic survival.

“No matter how awful the world,” Archangel Neha had said to her only a week earlier, “all of us can look toward Lumia and know that we as a people are capable of creating things lovely and extraordinary. I do believe it’ll break us all should Lumia fall.”

Be that as it may, Sharine strained against the urge to race to Titus’s side, her bighearted archangel who’d loved her with such raw passion their one night together. He’d left an imprint not just on her body but on her heart. She knew worrying about him was foolishness, that an archangel couldn’t be so easily harmed.

Yet she watched the skies.

Because those skies would shatter should Titus fall. She knew that as she knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west.

As for the far less honorable archangel who’d sent her a letter . . .

Breaking the seal, she removed the folded piece of paper within.

My dearest lady, I know you are angry with me, and you have every reason to nurture such anger, but I hope you’ll do me the honor of accepting a visit fourteen days hence.

I aim to arrive by the evening hour, so that we may enjoy a meal together and reminisce. It has been too long, and I find myself lost often in thoughts of our life together—and of our son, so headstrong and brave.

Till then.

Sharine snorted.

“Is this a bad time, Lady Sharine?”

She glanced up at Trace’s smooth tone, the vampire having returned through the door via which he’d only recently left. “Did you know that egotistical arrogance has a scent?” She lifted up the page she held. “This letter reeks of it should you wish a sniff.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said the scamp, his eyes dancing. “I came to convey an invitation—the Lumia squadron would be honored if you’d dine with them this eve.”

“Of course.” Sharine enjoyed speaking with her warriors, and tonight was a special one, for tomorrow, three of her warriors would rotate out and head home, to be replaced by three others.

It was the second of an archangel who’d quietly made the request that three of his senior warriors could do with a respite, and she’d as quietly made a personal request of all three. The warriors had agreed because she was the Hummingbird, and now they’d have time to heal their hearts while they watched over Lumia.

She’d never again be the angel of old, but she’d decided not to leave the Hummingbird totally in the past. She’d done a lot of good and all of angelkind trusted her.

A rare and unique gift that shouldn’t be squandered.

“I leave you to the scent of arrogance, my lady.” A bow so suave it was poetry.

Smiling, she returned her attention to the letter. It was just like Aegaeon to pretend to be asking permission, but to actually be dictating terms. Her immediate response was to carrier back a cool rejection, but then she paused, thought about it. The past was past, yes, but one question haunted her to this day.

So she’d take this chance to ask it.

She’d face the man who was, to her, the embodiment of cruelty. “Come, Aegaeon. I think it’s time this was done.”

It was as she was returning inside to ready herself for the dinner with her squadron that her phone rang. Illium’s face filled the screen. “My son,” she said, her heart ablaze with piercing love. “You surprise me.”

“Ha! I’m not the one dispensing surprises.” Suspicious eyes. “A little bird told me that you and Titus . . .” He blew out a breath, the arches of his healing wings shifting against a background that told her he was in his Tower suite. “Is it true?”

Sharine smiled at the streaks of color on his cheekbones. “Would it shock you if it was?”

Eyes of beaten gold connecting with hers, the blush forgotten. “I like Titus, but I don’t want you hurt.”

Still protecting her, her beautiful child who’d had to look after his mother for far too long. “I’m living now, Illium,” she said, gentle because he’d earned such gentleness even when he trod where most children would never be permitted. “I won’t hide, not even from pain. I’ll never again choose to hide when I can spread my wings and breathe the air and yes, make mistakes and grow.”

Her son took in her face. “You’re truly different,” he said at last, a faint smile edging his lips. “Do you remember how I once insisted you paint me blue from head to toe and you did?”

“Oh.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “You were so very small! How do you remember?”