Page 60 of Archangel’s Lineage

“You’re an immortal arms dealer?” He put no judgment in his tone; he’d always known she walked in the gray. And when the time came, she’d chosen to arm their troops, not those of the enemy.

“I was once, in another lifetime,” she said. “I dusted off the skills to help ensure she who was evil wouldn’t achieve her objectives. My friends in that world were happy to join me in my quest. Even arms dealers have standards, and in using her own people with such callous disregard, she who was evil incarnate turned even the least moral of us against her.”

Friends, Vivek noted, rather than acquaintances. And decided he had a new goal in life. To be described as Katrina’s friend, rather than a useful acquaintance. “Will you come to the Tower if asked, in order to authenticate the provenance of this book?”

“Only at the request of the archangel,” she said. “But the provenance will not assist you. My acquaintance is what is called a hoarder in modern parlance. He collects not only books, but many types of objects.

“His huge estate is nothing but an endless warehouse. He does not keep records. He only wants and takes and holds. Remember it was his son who recalled seeing the book during an exploration of the hoard many years ago, and he knows not from where it came.”

Vivek figured a hoarder of this extent was likely to be known to a number of older immortals; Vivek could track him if needed. “Huh. I never figured that angels and vampires could become hoarders, too. But it makes sense. With that much time, even collecting a little here and there would end up in a hoard.”

“No.” Snapping her fan shut, Katrina allowed it to fall off her wrist once more. “As with mortals, immortals keep their homes manageable. Items are traded, sold, given away, or discarded, only those most precious to the owner kept.

“My acquaintance does not—cannot—do any of that. Once he has something, he must hold on to it.” A thread in her tone that Vivek was certain was empathy. “It is an illness, I have heard it said by both angelic healers and mortal physicians. Having witnessed the way he lives, inside a home stuffed to the gills and dank with the smell of rot, I must agree.”

When she rose, he rose with her, his bag on the side away from her and his hand braced atop his cane.

“That is all the knowledge I have been able to unearth,” she said as they began to stroll in the direction from which he’d come.

Vivek nodded, his nostrils flaring as he breathed her in, the cold night air no match for the scent of her. “If I can, I’ll tell you what comes of the hunt for the language.” Because if this ended up Cadre business, then Vivek’s mouth would be sealed shut.

Katrina stopped without warning, turned to face him. “Why are you breathing so hard?” An unreadable glint in her eye. “Is it your leg?”

He ground his teeth against the flash of annoyance. “No, the infusion of blood will stave off the degenerative effects for the short term.” That was another reason he’d bought the blood. He was far more mobile after a drink, at least for the next hour or two. “I’m breathing this way because I’m drunk on your scent.” If she could be blunt, then so could he.

They stood in the silvery light of the moon, close enough that he saw her pupils expand. “And what”—a purr—“do I smell like to one of the hunter-born?”

He’d had time to think about it, unravel the layers of complexity. “An indulgence of dark orchids twined with shards of musk, and beneath it all, a delicate whisper of flowers I can’t name, but that might be poison hidden within the most beautiful blooms. You smell of dangerous intoxication.”

Her lips parted, lush and pink. Her breath caught in her throat. And her eyes... the pupils expanded until they almost took over her irises. When she spoke, her voice was husky with an edge that told him he talked with the predator beneath the sophisticated skin. “You are either a very brave or very reckless man, Vivek Kapur.”

Unable to predict her next move, his shoulders rigid and his hand tight on the head of his cane, he didn’t so much as take a breath.

Katrina leaned toward him, her breath against his throat as she said, “Be careful how far you push me, young one.” She’d turned and walked away into the darkness before he could snap back a response, a woman who was at home in the night, and who had no fear of the shadows that lingered within it.

37

He stirs but does not wake.

It will take him time. He has Slept longer than eternity itself.

You were ever fascinated with him.

Do you blame me? I was a child, and he was... a monster, beautiful. The last one of his kind to walk the earth.

My memories of him are not as clear as yours. I was but a babe when he declared he was done with life and that the time for his final Sleep had come.

Ah, my love. I forget that you are the younger. My fresh-faced lover whom I seduced.

Will you forever remind me that I am the younger? We are so old that they call us Ancients of Ancients in the waking world.

But to me, you are simply my Qin.

The earth shakes again.

Yes, he stirs again. Each stir brings him closer to breaching the veil of Sleep.

I pity those who walk the earth.

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