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Arsene’s ill mood rises with their elevation. In return, Nur forces himself to act cool and relaxed whenever they come intocontact.He’snot the one with a problem. It’s the angel who refuses to behave normally.
Anyway, in spite of the prickly, arrogant individual he’s attached to, he finds himself more at-ease than he’s ever been.
Maybe this is what he’s been missing. Warmth. Companionship. Dogs chasing at his heels on the long walk. Pups asking him for stories.Doinguseful things that elicit grateful smiles.
It can’t last.
He’s riding in the back of a wagon, stuck in the haze of his day-three hunger, when it jolts to a stop under him. Only half awake, he fumbles for the flap and lets the light penetrate his musty cave. In his first week of travel he would’ve pulled his collar up and shut out the world, wary of caring about anyone but himself. Now he stumbles into the searing daylight and squints at the scene.
Both wagons are halted and humans have gathered in the space between them. One mule is on her knees in the dust. Another hangs her head, her thin neck bobbing. The wagon master stands off to the side while the doctor checks them over.
“Chimeric parasites,” Irvin declares darkly. A shiver runs through those gathered.
“Get Myra,” someone says.
Nur hangs back, hesitant to insert himself into human business. He senses Arsene before he arrives—his entire body twitches with a familiar, now-hated longing. The sight of him jabs the organ he refuses to think of as his heart.
“Let me see.” Arsene’s deep voice is officious.
Irvin steps aside. “Nothing anyone can do.”
Arsene kneels and lifts the mule’s head. He opens her jaw and runs a thumb along the inside of her mouth. It comes out black as demon ichor.
Corrupted.
“Did you touch it?” he says to the doctor.
“No,” Irvin says quickly. “I saw it in time.”
The angel wipes his finger on the short grass and pulls his knife from his boot. Before anyone can stop him, he takes the mule’s head in his hands. She brays weakly. But Arsene is quick and merciful. With a jerk of his arm, he cuts her throat.
The bond flares bright. Arsene’s unhappiness whips him like a thorny branch. More black blood spills out of the lethal cut and bruises the white plain. The wagon master shouts, echoing Nur’s heartbeat. Swiftly, Arsene goes to the second mule and does the same.
The surrounding humans heave a collective shudder, and suddenly voices rise in anger.
“Stay back!” Arsene barks over the noise of the crowd. A child breaks free of the crowd and runs toward the bodies.
Without thinking, Nur lunges at the human pup. He grabs her and lifts her into his arms, and she shrieks. Her tiny face contorts and her fists ball up and slam into his shoulder ineffectually.
“No!” the little girl howls. “No, no no!”
“Hush!” He looks around frantically. No one comes forward to take the child from him. Is he allowed to hold her?
“It’s alright,” he whispers roughly as she dissolves into tears.
He stumbles out of the empty circle and the humans part to let him back into their midst. Some are shouting at Arsene, and others are shouting at them. Nur process any words.
“Everyone stay back,” Arsene repeats, wiping his knife on the hide of the dead mule. The doctor’s face is grim. “Who fed the beasts this morning?”
“I did.” The wagon master steps forward. Nur’s grip tightens on the child.
For a moment Arsene looks indecisive, then he grabs the wagon master’s shoulder. “Come with me.”
“But—I’m fine,” the wagon master stammers, resisting.
Caravaners step aside to let Myra through. Her gaze sweeps across the tableau. “Stand down, angel. Josi, Lana, start moving the rest of the supplies into the second wagon.”
Arsene doesn’t release the human. “We need to contain the parasites or they’ll run through the whole caravan.”
