In front of Mahiya, Neha and Jason circled the higher fort, and she was struck by the span of Jason’s wings, by the clean efficiency of his flight technique, not a motion wasted. He wasn’t a man she ever wanted after her in the sky—escape would be impossible.

Putting on a burst of speed, she came in below them to land in Neha’s private courtyard within the fort that made a chill bead of sweat roll down her spine even now. However, that wasn’t the reason for her descent: It would not do for her to rise higher than the archangel—that lesson she’d learned on the fateful day a hundred years after her birth, when she’d officially crossed the line into adulthood and lost the protection afforded by Neha’s unwillingness to harm the young.

The lesson had been a brutal one, the Master of the Guard instructed to strip her back of skin. Mahiya had long understood she lived on Neha’s sufferance, having learned the truth from a nanny who thought she should know her place in the scheme of things, the gift of knowledge a rough kindness.

“Never forget that nothing you do will ever please her. To her, you are not a child to be protected, but a constant reminder of a betrayal that humiliated an archangel. Focus on survival.”

As she’d hung from the whipping post, blood trickling down her back, Mahiya had understood something else. That Neha wanted to break her until she was a living warning on the price of disloyalty. Enough people knew the unspoken secret of Mahiya’s heritage that the warning would be understood.

I will survive and I will survive whole.

The vow was one she’d made even as the whip fell again and again. And it was one she had kept, refusing to let Neha twist her into an ugly mirror of Neha’s own hatred. Allowing the archangel to believe she’d succeeded in cowing Mahiya was a strategic move on the chessboard that cost her nothing but pride . . . and pride was a useless tool in the fight for her very existence.

Jason landed after Neha, but that was to be expected—he was clearly acting as her guard in this moment. He ignored Mahiya’s presence, sparing her not so much as a glance.

Something foul bubbled in her stomach, and she knew herself for the most pathetic kind of fool. What had she expected? That he’d continue to treat her with that inexplicable, alluring respect after it became clear exactly how little she mattered to Neha?

“Jason.” Neha inclined her head in regal acknowledgment before entering the palace she used while at Guardian, ready to begin her vigil by Eris’s lifeless body.

Swallowing the anger within her that could ruin everything, Mahiya said, “Do you wish to return to Archangel Fort?”

A nod, and he rose again, in a burst of blinding speed.

Her heart leaped into her throat. He was faster than Neha. Her own rise felt childish and painful by comparison, but she got airborne and made her way to the fort through the crystalline blue skies while Jason went so high he wasn’t even a dot in the distance, reappearing at the last minute to arrow down to a clean landing in front of her—their—palace. The area appeared deserted, the guards having decamped after removing Eris’s body.

Jason folded back his wings, waited for her to do the same. Then he turned to her. “Do you not,” he said in a tone calm and measured, “have enough respect for yourself to not allow Neha to treat you like something scraped off the bottom of her shoe?”

The shock of the unexpected blow was so absolute, it felt as if he’d punched a fist into her rib cage, crumpling her bones inward where they ripped and tore and made her bleed.

* * *

Jason realized he’d made a mistake the instant after he spoke, as Mahiya’s face paled to a sickening shade, her breath jagged. It had been a long time since he’d spoken without thought, and he knew he’d allowed his anger at Mahiya’s acceptance of the treatment meted out to her by Neha to color his thinking.

Shifting a fraction closer, he spread his wings as if stretching them. “We are watched.” He made his tone a whip. “Do not break.”

She blinked at the harsh order, and then it was as if a rod of steel had been thrust through her spine, her tawny eyes wild with fury. “A test, spymaster? If so, I failed.”

So at last, I see you again, Mahiya. “I could have spoken with more care, but that would not change the heart of my question.”

Her fury now tightly controlled, she walked not into the privacy of the palace, but through the delineated pathways of the courtyard garden, the area bright with lush blooms that mocked the desert climate, the water running down the sides of the pavilion offering a cooling wash of air. “Am I meant to thank you for calling me a spineless coward?”

“No,” he said, his own anger far more tempered but no less dangerous. “But you must know that weakness, real or feigned, only incites predators.” And the archangels were the alpha predators on the planet. “Neha appreciates those who stand up to her—you have the strength to do so.” She was no more spineless than he was stupid. “You have no reason to play dead.”

A wash of dark red across her cheekbones, her hands fisting. “Don’t think to know me or my life on the basis of a day’s enforced intimacy, my lord.” Turning away from the garden with those cold words, she led him through a doorway into the cool rooms within the fort, heading downward until he thought they must be on the level that housed the Palace of Jewels.

They exchanged no further words until she halted by a set of doors decorated with the familiar motif of slender vases, the carvings inset with agate and what looked to be green tourmaline. The doors stood ajar, but the angle meant he and Mahiya were yet concealed from the view of the people within. He took advantage of that to study the room and its inhabitants.

Spacious and relatively free of furniture, the room opened out onto a wide balcony, sunlight slanting in through there as well as through the tiny squares of the lattice window to the right. The illumination was bright but not hard, gilding the angels and vampires who stood talking and laughing in pairs or small groupings, all dressed in rich fabrics that sparkled and glittered, diamonds like drops of ice in their hair and their ears.

“Courtiers,” Mahiya said, her tone frigid. “A private brunch where they can display their finery without offence to Neha. I can make the introductions.”

Refusing the offer with a shake of his head, he walked a few feet to the right—to a door that, as he’d hoped, led directly to a balcony that paralleled the room of courtiers. Even better for his purpose, it was small, unconnected to the wider balcony he’d observed at the end of the room. Walking out, he leaned against the sun-warmed stone beside the lattice window and settled in to listen, darkly conscious of Mahiya’s silent presence by his side.

As she’d been silent in Neha’s presence.

His renewed anger at her behavior was visceral, a raw, bubbling thing. After near to seven hundred years of living with memories that had never faded, he knew the cause of his turbulent response, knew his fury was fed by the memory of another woman who hadn’t fought the violence meted out to her.

“He cannot help it, Jason. A terrible darkness has taken hold of his heart . . . but we can bring him back. We just have to love him.”

Neha’s treatment of Mahiya was nothing so obvious as a physical blow, but it was as effective a weapon in erasing her personality.

“. . . rumors he had a lover.”

Clamping down on his anger, Jason focused on the voices.

“Ridiculous. Who would chance execution for something as tawdry as sex?”

“Komal might. You know how angry she has been since Neha banished that vampire she intended to bed.”

“Komal is a silly girl, but she isn’t suicidal.”

Jason listened for almost an hour, but heard nothing else as explosive as that short conversation. “Who is Komal?” he asked Mahiya once they were well away from the room.

“A vampire who has been part of the inner court for half a century. Her beauty is considerable, and she’s adept at using it to manipulate men. I think she doesn’t quite understand that Neha is not as susceptible.” A glance that wasn’t as circumspect as he’d come to expect from her, the frost yet present in the tawny brown depths. “I’ll take you to her if you wish.”

“Yes.” Jason felt his own simmering anger spark in response, knew she’d sensed it when she jerked away her head and strode the corridor, her demure demeanor forgotten. Though she could not have meant it to do so, the show of temper soothed his own.

“There she is.” Mahiya indicated a woman walking along one of the open hallways that overlooked the cityscape.

Komal proved to be exactly as described—a sensual invitation with her raven hair and red lips, honey gold skin and dangerous curves. A woman on whom vampirism had bestowed its exotic kiss, and one who was spoiled to the extent that she pouted when Jason didn’t immediately fall at her feet. “We both know the mouse isn’t going to satisfy you,” she purred with venomous sweetness. “I promise to show you pleasures you’ve never tasted.”

Jason stared at the hand she’d raised as if to touch him until she paled, dropped it, before shifting his gaze to lush brown eyes that had no doubt led many a man to hell. “Were you happy to oblige Eris, too?”

11

Pure, unmitigated panic. “Who has started that rumor?” It was a whispered hiss as she looked around for anyone who might overhear. “Neha will execute me if it reaches her ears. God, she’ll probably torture me first, keep me alive for years.”

Jason said nothing, watched her turn to Mahiya, her fangs flashing. “Tell me, or I’ll have you whipped again.”

“If I were you, Komal,” Mahiya said in a tone cool with warning, “I’d forget about making trouble and stay out of sight for the time being.”

Paling even further, the vampire turned and ran off inside, her figure-hugging gown dragging along the gray stone used in this part of the fort. Jason let her go, certain she had neither been, nor had any knowledge of, Eris’s illicit lover. Her shaken response to the accusation and nasty nature aside, Komal wasn’t smart enough to have pulled off such an intrigue. She’d have boasted to someone, been caught long ago.

“Why were you whipped?” he asked the far more complex, intelligent woman by his side.

No hitch in Mahiya’s stride. “Which time?”

His nails dug into his palm. “The last time.”

“I was disrespectful to a high-level courtier.”

“Was he worth respect?”

Unsurprised at the question from this male who didn’t follow any of the rules of accepted behavior and who’d incited a rage in her that had made her forget herself to a dangerous extent, Mahiya said, “No.” Pointless to lie to him now.

“Then the whipping was worth it.”

It was a strange sensation, being totally liberated of the need to conceal her true thoughts. As if she were drunk. “No,” she said, her fury still cold enough to burn, “because after I was beaten and weak, he received what he wanted.” Mahiya had had to prostrate herself at his feet, beg for forgiveness for the slight she’d done him. Only her stubborn refusal to become anything like Neha had kept her from stewing in the bitterness and hate that had sought to bloom in her that day. “I learned to choose my battles.”