“The two parts didn’t fight for supremacy but worked together for survival,” he added, his arm tightening around her. “It’s why my form isn’t twisted or crippled. And now, there is only one. I am me. I am Naasir.”
The simplicity of his declaration made it all the more powerful. “Did you choose your name?” There was no doubt in her mind that even if Osiris had called him by a name, it wasn’t one Naasir would’ve kept.
“No,” he told her. “Dmitri gave it to me, in honor of a friend who perished in a battle where he saved Dmitri’s life.” Unhidden emotion in his tone. “I’m proud to bear it, to know Dmitri always believed I would do justice to such an honorable name—and that I would be strong enough to make it my own.”
“No one can dispute that,” Andromeda said. “You are Naasir, a legend across continents and through time.” Under her hand, she felt the formation of a layer of fur so fine and so soft that she couldn’t see it, only feel the texture. What she could see were the tiger stripes on his skin. Rising on her elbow beside him, she whispered, “I am so happy to know you.”
He bared his teeth at her. “What secrets are you keeping from me?”
“I’ll tell you after the dinner at my parents’ estate. You’ll still come?” The question held an edge of desperation she hoped he didn’t hear.
“I’ve been thinking of a gift for your parents,” he said in response, his tone solemn. “When I was in New York, I saw a television show about dolls that look human and are fully anatomically correct. They would be the perfect tireless concubines.”
Snorting with laughter, she tried to appear stern. “Don’t you dare.”
His grin was unrepentant. “I gave Ellie a carnivorous plant. She liked it.”
“Should I be jealous?” She’d heard how he spoke about his sire’s consort—with admiration and affection both.
Quicksilver fast, he tugged her down with a grip in her hair, holding her so close that she could count each individual lash over his eyes. “Elena is Raphael’s consort and a sparring partner for me.” His voice had fallen into the guttural range. “She is not you. No one will ever be what you are to me.”
Her heart broke. Into a million tiny pieces.
40
Lijuan arrived at Rohan’s stronghold long after she should have. It infuriated her that the unmistakable sign of Alexander’s awakening had forced her to ground herself for long periods; instinct had whispered that those silver lightning strikes could do serious damage to her yet healing body.
It appeared Favashi, too, had been delayed, for Rohan had no archangelic backup.
Good. Also good was the fact the swiftness of the storm indicated Alexander was forcing himself to wake at rapid speed; he’d be weak, while she could feel her strength returning to her with each hour that passed. Even her wings now felt strong enough for short flights. And, unlike Raphael, Alexander wouldn’t have developed any defenses against her black rain—if she could hit his heart, she could kill him.
The best option, however, remained to execute him before he rose.
Lijuan wasn’t about to discount Alexander until he was dead.
She spoke to Xi from her chair inside his battle tent. “You need to break this siege.” Lijuan could use her abilities to turn the tide, but that would mean dipping into her power reserves. “Rohan is not his father and you’re a seasoned general. Why is this taking so long?” The lightning was dangerous but it was no longer constant.
“Rohan is better prepared and has a larger number of troops garrisoned here than reported by our advance scouts—I believe he had warning.” Despite the fact he’d been fighting for hours, Xi’s expression was as cool and intelligent as always. “He’s also improved the palace with new technologies that are hindering our troops. The passion with which he fights appears to confirm that Alexander lies within.”
“Yes. The boy was always devoted to his father.” Lijuan considered her options, decided the expenditure of energy was justifiable; the earlier and faster she got to Alexander, the easier it would be to kill him.
Waiting only until her strength was at full capacity—though that capacity was paltry in comparison to what it would be once she healed totally—she rose into the air during a break in the lightning, and blasted the palace with her black rain. The attack vaporized part of the buildings, creating a large gap in Rohan’s defenses. Leaving Xi to take advantage of that, Lijuan invaded the palace in her noncorporeal form.
She escaped a lightning strike by mere millimeters.
It was a waste of precious energy to maintain her noncorporeal form when the palace was a ghost town, everyone at the defenses, but she had no legs and using her wings would attract too much attention.
She saw no signs of Alexander’s presence. Even when she sank below the earth, she sensed nothing of the silver-winged Ancient. Rising to the surface just before her noncorporeal form solidified humiliatingly into flesh and blood on the tiled floor of the palace, she knew there was only one option.
Because Zhou Lijuan did not crawl.
Before she could order Xi to bring her a sacrifice, her eye fell on an old retainer shuffling along a back passageway. Snapping out her wings to sweep through the wide corridors designed for angels, she grabbed him in silence and, cutting his throat with his own ceremonial knife, lapped at the blood that bubbled up. It was a poor substitute to directly sucking up his lifeforce, and blood tasted vile to Lijuan, but it transferred enough of his life energy to her that she was temporarily rejuvenated. If she felt weak again, she’d take another life. There were always warm bodies available to a goddess.
Ready for this to end so she could concentrate on her healing, she waited for the lightning to stutter, then rose above the palace and blanketed it with her black rain. Xi, find Rohan. I want him alive.
In took another forty minutes and two more inefficient feedings before Xi succeeded in overwhelming the defenders, and captured Alexander’s son. The palace lay half in ruins by then, Rohan’s fighters mostly dead, along with a large number of noncombatants who’d been hiding in a room that had fallen under Lijuan’s archangelic power.
Lijuan hadn’t done the latter on purpose—a goddess didn’t worry about weaponless ants—but neither did she feel any guilt. Rohan should’ve surrendered the instant he saw he was up against an archangel. He had to have known there was no way he could win.
Yet, even now, when he stood in the charred ruins of what must’ve been his great room, his hands bound behind him and his wings half cut off and cauterized by fire, while she sat on a chair in front of him, Alexander’s son was defiant.
“I do not know where my father Sleeps,” he said with an insolent laugh. “Do you truly think he would be so foolish as to leave the information with his son? It would make me a target. Neither would he remain in this territory, which is the first place a stupid enemy would look.”