“If we can distract Lijuan’s troops,” Naasir began, right as the wind and the lightning dropped without warning, the ensuing stillness eerie.
Shaking his head, Naasir started again. “If we can distract Lijuan’s troops, it’ll give him a little more time at least.”
Andromeda didn’t say anything, but they both knew Alexander would still be at a catastrophic disadvantage. From what Andromeda had read in the Archives, when an archangel rose this quickly, he or she was at less than half strength, with little endurance. Lijuan simply had to outlast him and she could kill him when he fell.
“Hide your men and women in the trees and shoot up,” Naasir said. “This assault is all about speed, about reaching Alexander before he gathers his strength—Xi won’t bother waiting for ground troops. It’s going to be nothing but air squadrons.”
“We have weapons for the air.” Tarek’s tone was ruthless. “Buried in the lands around the caves and the village. I didn’t want to activate the weapons with the sands twisting and the ground shaking, but it takes two hours for them to power up.”
Naasir chose his words with care, aware he was talking to a man who was used to running a lethal group. But Naasir had spent centuries working at the side of an archangel; he knew the value of the knowledge in his head. “I’d recommend you do it,” he said, holding the other man’s gaze. “I say that as someone who was in the battle in New York—I know how to fight a winged enemy from the ground if necessary.”
Naasir’s respect for Tarek grew when the leader of the Wing Brotherhood just gave a curt nod before ordering one of his men to start the process to activate the weapons. Turning back to Naasir, the other man said, “Tell us what else you know of fighting against angels.”
Naasir focused on how the wing brothers could maximize their assets—skill, knowledge of the terrain, and the element of surprise. He also told them to utilize their agility by rigging trap lines in the trees using wires so thin they were nearly invisible. Any angel who tried to land would get caught up in it, like an insect in a spider’s web.
“We stand a higher chance of success if we can keep them in the air, especially since you have ground-to-air weapons,” he said once Tarek agreed to the traps. “On the ground, you’ll be fighting one-to-one and Lijuan’s squadrons are full of old angels with unknown and dangerous abilities. Too old to be hampered by their wings.”
“If they do land,” Tarek told his men and women, “shoot for the heart or the head. No warnings. We have to incapacitate as fast as possible.”
“You do have one winged fighter,” Andromeda pointed out.
Naasir glanced at her. At that instant, he was more the experienced and honed commander of an archangel and less a primal chimera. It was a little intimidating.
“Your injuries?” he asked, and though his expression didn’t change, he touched a gentle hand to her primaries.
He was still Naasir, she realized on a wave of love. This was no false skin, just another aspect of his personality. “Healed enough to not be a problem.” Especially if they only wanted her aloft for short bursts. “I’m good with a sword in the air, but I won’t be able to do much damage on my own.”
“You’ll take out the stragglers we manage to corner off.” The feather he’d woven into his hair in a silent, powerful declaration fell forward as he leaned in to cup her jaw and cheek. “Or you’ll drive them down into the booby traps.” His voice took on the faintest edge of a growl. “In between, you stay grounded.”
A sense of urgency beating at her, Andromeda wanted to rise to her toes, press her mouth to his. “How long do you think we have?”
A dusty scout, his cheeks burned by the driving sand, tumbled into the room on the heels of her question. “I’ve been to the waypoint,” he gasped, hands on his knees. “The message was garbled because so many of the signal mirrors have been broken, but two things were clear: Lijuan has murdered Rohan, and she is on her way here.”
Andromeda’s gut went cold. Children were sacred to angelkind, and though Rohan was no longer a child, he had been the only and beloved son of an archangel.
Around her, the wing brothers—jaws clenched and muscles bunched—lowered their heads in silent respect for Rohan. When they looked up afterward, it was with fury in their eyes and blood on their mind. A cold-voiced Tarek’s questions to the scout elicited a chilling detail: Xi’s squadron was a bare four hours away. “No one’s spotted Lijuan,” the scout added. “But . . . part of the message said something about blood sacrifices.”
Andromeda’s hand clenched on the hilt of her knife as Naasir growled. “She feeds on the lifeforce of others to strengthen herself.” In his voice was firsthand knowledge. “Has there been any sign of Raphael?”
The scout shook his head. “Nothing. Parts of the beacon chain in some directions are broken, but messages are still getting through—he hasn’t been spotted anywhere in the territory.”
“Go,” Tarek ordered the wing brothers. “Set up the traps while I make sure the ground-to-air weapons are powering up as they should. Then find your positions and stay there.” He paused, held each wing brother’s gaze in turn. “Today, we fight for our archangel, do what we pledged to do four hundred years ago. If we fall, it will be in honor and we will wake at our archangel’s side when it is his time to leave this world. That time is not today.”