A shrug that reminded her of the boy he’d been. “I was so excited to be blue.” Smile segueing into a grin, he said, “Does Titus know who you are when you’re you?”

Bubbles of laughter in her bloodstream. “Oh, yes, I’ve concealed nothing from him. He considers me stubborn and aggravating in the extreme.”

A burst of laughter from Illium that made her join in, it was so wildly infectious. When they both calmed down, he said, “I think I’m going to mind my own business now, and not think too hard about what you might be up to with Titus.”

She bit back her smile. “Such is wise indeed, else you might have nightmares.”

“Mother.” His tone was stern, but when she asked him about his life, he answered in good humor, and they ended the conversation with words of love from a mother to her son, and a son to his mother.

Then, of course, she had to call Aodhan, too, to ensure he was well. He’d heard rumors of a possible liaison between her and Titus, and had the same reason to ask her about it. “I wouldn’t have you in pain, Eh-ma.” Emotion-filled words, his eyes shards of blue and green shattering outward from a black pupil.

Truly, she thought after the conversation ended, she was blessed to have known two such hearts from childhood.

Darkness lay heavy on the horizon now. She knew the worst of it was about to begin for Titus and his people; her stomach clenched as it did every night at this hour, a visceral fear thick in her blood. “Stay safe, Titus. Fly home to me.”

* * *

* * *

Titus had been battling the reborn for months.

So he could hardly believe it when the day came that he found himself standing at the southern tip of his territory, after a blazing wave of battle that laid waste to reborn nest after reborn nest. The Guild Hunters had come through again and again, and though Titus knew that he and his troops hadn’t wiped out the scourge, it was now a matter of isolated nests, and of hunting down lone reborn who’d managed to evade the hunt.

The rotting and infectious creatures were no longer a plague over his land. His people could once more farm their lands, build their homes, live lives free of constant fear.

The first thing he did—after allowing himself a roar of victory echoed by his troops—was gather together all senior field commanders, loop in Tzadiq from Narja, and nut out a plan for eliminating those reborn who’d slipped through the net. Tzadiq took on the duty of creating specialist squadrons who’d work with equally specialist vampiric and Guild Hunter teams.

The other members of the Guild would return to their normal duties because sadly, Africa wasn’t proof from idiot vampires.

The rest of Titus’s forces would turn their minds to assisting people who’d been scraping by with far too little. With the northern half of the continent declared clear much earlier, Tzadiq had already repurposed the standing force of multiple cities to outward areas, their task to assist farmers to rebuild, put up heavy-duty fences, and take other such necessary protections against any lingering reborn.

“Charisemnon’s commanders stared at me as if I was talking gibberish when I gave that order,” Tzadiq had told him when they’d spoken at the time. “The idea of sullying their hands with anything but battle glory seemed to be beyond them.”

Titus had snorted; he felt no surprise that Charisemnon’s troops knew nothing of what it was to be part of a functioning ecosystem. “How do they believe the cities will be fed if the farms go fallow? No other territory is in a much better position, so we can’t rely on imported food.”

While vampires could survive on blood, angels needed to eat. And Titus would be damned if he permitted food to be redirected to angels rather than mortals. The latter starved far quicker than those of his kind. “Charisemnon’s angels know immortals won’t be head of the queue for any food supplies?”

“I did point that out, and light dawned for half of them—but with the rest, I showed them the rapid pace of rebuilding in New York. A shot of Raphael lifting a wall into place seemed to rip the blinkers from their eyes.”

Titus hadn’t been the least angered that his second had used the image of another archangel to inspire the commanders. New York had been devastated in the war, archangelic fire taking out huge areas of the city. If a sense of competition was what it took to kick their lard asses into gear, he’d use it.

“Commander Eryna,” Tzadiq had added, “she’s proved one of the best. The regions under her command are back up and running, with the first fast-growing crops ready to harvest.

“I’ve also been impressed with one of the junior vampire commanders—Khan’s on the ground in one of the cities worst-hit by reborn in the north, and he’s managed to organize mortal and immortal teams into efficient cleanup and rebuild crews. He’s doing more work than the angelic commander, but I’ve left the angel in place for now for continuity.”

Titus made a note of the names, but he knew he could rely on Tzadiq to build him a list of those commanders who could be trusted to work without constant supervision; such angels and vampires were priceless. As for the others, he’d be demoting them as soon as things began to equalize.

Titus had no room in his territory for those who rose up the ranks by standing on the hard work of others.

With the planning meeting over, he stood on the rocks above the crashing water that broke against the tip of his territory and felt a fierce pride in every man, woman, and child who’d fought with such defiant courage to get them to this state. His pride in the Cadre was no less intense.

In this devastating time, they’d forgotten politics and vanity and acted as one.

Neha, exhausted and heartsick, had shipped his fighters massive cases of a wine made only in India. I hope this gives your troops a little joy, she’d written in her elegant hand.

It had, and he wouldn’t forget that.

Elijah’s second had shipped equally large cases of dark chocolate, a beloved export of Eli’s territory. Rather than using it as an indulgence, Tzadiq had utilized the chocolate as high-energy food to tide over those settlements that were down to the bare bones, their cupboards empty and their fields unplowed.

Qin, distant in the Pacific, had worked with Raphael and with Eli’s people to ensure that part of the globe didn’t crumble and shatter. Caliane had thrown her weight and power behind Suyin and Neha. As for Alexander and Raphael, both the old man and the pup would always have Titus’s friendship and love.

Even that donkey Aegaeon had sent multiple squadrons to Africa to assist in the final two weeks of reborn cleanup. Titus’s lip curled. He despised the other archangel as a man and would do so for eternity, but he had to admit Aegaeon did his duty as an archangel.

Titus’s own territory had been the worst hit postwar, and the rest of the Cadre expected nothing from him but that he stop the reborn advance, but Africa had gone much further. Every single territory now had access to the cure. Titus’s healers and scholars and makers of such things had worked day and night to accelerate the pace of production. As for the angel discovered by Ozias and Sharine, he’d regained his senses . . . and his memories of eating living flesh.

Physically yet weak, his biggest trouble at this point was his mind. He tended to vomit at the sight of solid food, so the healers had him on liquids. Nothing that might remind him of tearing off hunks of his victim’s flesh.

“It’s psychological, not physiological,” Sira had confirmed. “He’s cured, but as to whether he will ever heal . . . that I can’t predict.”

It was a nightmare to imagine what angelkind would’ve looked like had the infection spread widely before they discovered the cure. Charisemnon could’ve brought their entire people to their knees, horror their breath.

But Charisemnon was defeated, his legacy of evil extinguished.

It’s done, he messaged Sharine. The rest of the hard work begins.

Archangels, one and all, were worn down to the bone, and while Elijah’s consort had shared the good news that his healing had progressed to the point where he’d soon wake, they still had no idea when or if Astaad and Michaela would return.

To date, Titus hadn’t had any real problem with vampires giving in to bloodlust; everyone had been so afraid of the reborn that they hadn’t had the energy to do anything but fight. Other territories hadn’t been so lucky.

Which was why, despite his need to see Sharine, touch her, hear her voice, he set a slow and steady pace on his flight back to his citadel. He wanted to be sure he was seen, his power noted. Landing in multiple locations, he was frank about the fact that vampires who forced him to divert resources because of bloodlust or simple stupidity would all be given the same sentence: death.

“Make it known,” he told the leader of a large vampire kiss. “I have no patience and even less inclination to tell the Guild Hunters to return rogue vampires to their masters for punishment. Field executions have been authorized across the board.” If a hunter balked, one of Titus’s commanders would do the task. “This is the only warning you’ll get.”

The vampire in front of him, a mostly useless type who’d cowered behind the safe walls of his residence during the past months, went deathly pale, then bowed. “Sire, I’ll spread the word.”

Certain it would travel with wildfire speed across the continent, Titus continued on. On reaching his citadel, he bathed properly for the first time in what felt like an eon, then dressed in dark brown pants that hugged his thighs—for Sharine did like his thighs—and a crisp white tunic with a standing collar and no sleeves. Gold embroidery curled around the collar and on the bottom edges of the tunic.

His eye fell on the small velvet box that sat on the table beside his bed.

Tzadiq had come through for him on the highly specific item Titus had asked him to procure. Removing it from the box, he slipped it into a pocket in his pants with care, then pulled on his sword harness. Thrusting his swords into place on his back not long afterward, he looked at himself in the mirror and nodded. He looked what he was: a warrior in mind to court and win his lady.