Archangel's Heart

  "Right," Elena murmured. "You'll be a Cadre of Ten again, enough territories to go around with no two archangels on top of one another."

  "That would be the best-case scenario; the current situation is dangerously unstable." Because if Lijuan was alive and awake, there were eleven active archangels in the world. There had never been more than ten at any one time. Less, yes, but never more. It had shaken the critical balance that kept the most powerful beings in the world from killing one another.

  "I can see why it's a great idea to put all these parties who hate each other in a small area together." His consort's tone was acerbic. "And forget about a siege--Lijuan's probably creeping around in her noncorporeal form ready to drop one of her black poison bombs down on the rest of you."

  Raphael leaned forward to surround her with his wings. "Ah, but she is a goddess, Guild Hunter, and as such, needs someone to worship her. And she wants tribute from some of her fellow archangels at least." The Archangel of China wanted to be a goddess to her fellow archangels, too, to be the Queen of Queens.

  "Right, how could I forget?" Wrapping her arms around him, his hunter pressed her cheek to his chest, the wings of a warrior arching over her shoulders. "Don't get dead, Raphael, or I swear I'll hunt you down in the afterlife."

  "I would not dare, Elena-mine." Life held too much promise--never could he become jaded with Elena's fierce honesty and wildfire spirit in his life. "Now"--he fisted one hand in her hair, his jaw against her temple--"tell me why your spine is so stiff and your eyes haunted."

  Tone flat, she shared the news of her father's injury, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't conceal the raw emotions that still tied her to Jeffrey Deveraux. Raphael knew too well that the love of a child for a parent who'd once been all a parent should be couldn't be erased--he'd tried to hate his mother after her atrocities; he'd failed.

  So, despite his disdain for her father, he said nothing, just held his strong consort with her mortal heart that felt so deeply.

  They stood wrapped up in one another as the final hints of twilight faded to true dark, Archangel Tower a spear of light that dominated the sky. Illium landed in a showy flash not long afterward, Aodhan following far more sedately. But Illium's closest friend drew attention whether he wanted to or not.

  Every filament of his wings and each strand of his hair seemed to be coated with crushed jewels that refracted the light, while his skin was white marble. Not cold, however. No, it was warm, invited touch--the one thing the gifted and powerful angel couldn't stand. Only Illium had the freedom to touch Aodhan as he wished, though Aodhan had healed enough to accept a small amount of contact with a limited number of others.

  Including from the warrior in Raphael's arms.

  Who drew back then, old pain held deep within her, and her smile glorious. "Come on in, let's go see what Sivya's cooked up for us."

  *

  Raphael sat beside Elena at the table in the library, where they had most of their meals, the formal dining room used only when many more of his Seven and/or her Guard were present, or if they had other guests. At this instant, his consort was laughing with one of his Seven who sat across from her.

  It was Illium, of course, her favorite.

  Another man might have been jealous of their relationship, might've stewed in a bitterness that destroyed all the bonds that tied each one of them to the other. Raphael, however, had watched the blue-winged angel grow up, seen his power and his personality develop; he knew he had Illium's unflinching loyalty.

  Bluebell would cut off his own wings rather than consider duplicity of any kind.

  And Elena. His hunter had no concept of betrayal. When Elena loved, it was with every fiber of her being. She would walk with him into death without hesitation, his fiery consort.

  Her eyes met his at that instant, the silvery sheen in them a physical sign of her growing immortality. You're too ridiculously good looking. A scowl. Stop it.

  He felt his lips curve. Your Bluebell would disagree.

  Yes, he's pretty. So is Aodhan. But you're you. She was music in his head, sharp and clean and like a perfectly balanced blade.

  He wondered if she realized her mental voice was gaining in strength. His consort was maturing--in terms of her immortality--far quicker than anyone had expected. Yet there was only so far her once-mortal body could go in the time that had passed; she remained a newborn angel, so much easier to hurt than him or any of his Seven.

  And you, Elena, are you. A warrior to the bone. His warrior.

  "Sire, is there anything I should know before we leave?" Aodhan's voice was deep, quiet, but today, it held the faint touch of a faraway land where he'd spent part of his youth. He'd been in Raphael's employ at the time, had gone to Ireland to study under a master artist. Because Raphael had always understood that, for Aodhan, creating art was life, was breathing.

  For ten long years after they rescued him from hell, Aodhan had created no art and Raphael had thought they'd lost him forever. Until Illium accidentally spotted his friend by a river near the Refuge. Aodhan was gone by the time Illium returned from his task as a courier, but in his friend's place, he'd found a delicate stack of stones that cast an astonishingly intricate shadow--a stack placed so it would be washed away when the river next rose.

  Raphael could still remember Illium's tear-wet eyes, his trembling voice when he reported his find. "Aodhan's not gone." A husky rasp. "He's still alive inside. We just have to wait for him to find his way back to us."

  Tonight, Raphael glimpsed faint flecks of yellow and blue paint in Aodhan's hair. "I think you can guess the knives that will be out," he said in response to the angel's question, "all of them ready to stab us in our backs." He sipped from his wine, nodding in thanks at Montgomery, who'd come in to top up their glasses. "This is a meeting of vipers, Aodhan. Your task will be to keep Elena safe."

  Elena threw a roll at Raphael's head.

  He caught it, startled. "Elena, did you just throw a bread roll at the Archangel of New York?"

  "I felt like throwing my biggest blade but I restrained myself," was the response. "Aren't you proud of me?" A saccharine sweet smile.

  Illium choked on his laughter, while Aodhan managed to keep his face expressionless, the shattered mirrors of his eyes suddenly deeply interested in the small centerpiece on the table. Montgomery had been about to leave the library, hesitated, then gave in to his better nature and training, and slipped out.

  Switching to private mental speech after putting down the offending roll, Raphael said, You have to be aware you need protection. Michaela will likely bring Riker as her escort just to spite you. And the twisted vampire male wanted a piece of Elena.

  The fact Raphael had torn Riker's heart out of his chest, punching a bare hand through Riker's ribcage to grip the pulsating organ, might hold him back--or it might not. Because Riker wasn't quite sane after so long in Michaela's service. Not after the things she'd done--and who he'd been before he became her pet vampire.

  I can take that asshole. Elena stabbed at her meal with her fork.

  There'll be others, you know that.

  She looked up, her eyes holding not fury or even aggravation but something else, something deeper, more important. Of course I know that, Archangel. I've been your consort for more than three years, and during that time, many people have tried to tear off my head, rip me limb from limb, stab me, you get the drift.

  His blood iced, his anger directed not at Elena, but at those who had attempted to harm her. Most of them were dead. I do get the drift, Consort, he said to Elena when she raised an eyebrow.

  Her lips kicked up at his edgy tone but her eyes remained serious. I also know you'll concentrate better in the meeting if Aodhan is with me. I like Sparkle. I don't mind hanging with him while you're wheeling and dealing in the Cadre.

  As Elena had been Consort for several years, Raphael had been an archangel with a consort. So he knew that, right now, he was being called to account. Perhaps I should ask Illium an
d Aodhan to leave. The two members of his Seven were chatting quietly to each other, totally at ease despite the jagged sparks in the air . . . because this was their home, too.

  It had become so after Elena became Raphael's. His Seven had always come and gone from the Enclave house, had stayed here at times, but never had they been so at home here. It was his hunter who'd made that happen--and it wasn't only the Seven she'd affected. It wasn't chance that Montgomery had begun to court Sivya only after Elena had been living here for some time.

  She'd brought life with her, brought heart.

  They can stay. Elena took a sip of her wine. I'm not going to go for your throat--not until after dessert anyway. Montgomery took over the kitchen with Sivya's permission and made some kind of thing called a pavlova that looks like a cloud with strawberries on it and I really want to eat it.

  Shoulders unknotting and the strain easing from wing muscles tensed in readiness for a private battle, Raphael leaned back against his chair, his wingtips lying against the thick carpet. So, if you understand the need, then why did you assault me with baked goods?

  Can I have that back, by the way? I really like Sivya's rolls.

  Lobbing it over to her, Raphael watched her catch it with effortless ease. Thanks. She made a stern face at Illium when her Bluebell said, "Have you two finished your discussion?"

  "Shh, the grownups are talking."

  The blue-winged angel grinned. "Can you finish before dessert? I don't want a side dish of anxiety with my dessert."

  "Eat your entree," Elena ordered before looking back at Raphael, her eyes luminous. Here's the thing, Raphael. Past couple of years, while we all waited for the shit to hit the fan, things have been fairly peaceful--this is the first time we're going back into danger.

  Raphael inclined his head in a silent agreement.

  That's why I'm cutting you some slack. She took another sip of her wine, her slender throat moving as she swallowed. You've lacked positive reinforcement on how to thrash out such issues with your consort.

  Raphael drank some of his own wine. I believe my consort is now amused.

  Just a little. Her smile deepened. Remember our first disagreement? It involved my blood in case you've forgotten.

  It involved a woman with endless courage.

  Putting down her wineglass, that same woman locked gazes with him once more, as courageous and as fearless as ever. You default to thinking me weak and in need of protection. Instead of recognizing that I'm not mortal now. I was never a normal mortal anyway.

  No, she was hunter-born. Stronger, faster, deadlier. Putting down his own wine, he offered her a blade he carried on himself because Elena had given it to him after a fight months ago. Your consort accepts his mistake, Guild Hunter. I should not have stated things as I did--I shouldn't, in fact, have thought in such a pattern.

  Elena took his peace offering, slid it away with a smile. Don't sweat it. You are kind of old.

  Very funny, Elena. In immortal terms, he was young, the youngest angel ever to become an archangel.

  Come on, you set yourself up for it, she said with a laugh.

  And that laugh, it was wildfire in his blood. Was life. "Aodhan, you will be with Elena during the Cadre meetings. I'll leave it to the two of you to decide how best to utilize your resources."

  Elena's eyes widened. Placing her hand on his thigh under the table, she said, Hey, I didn't want a public statement. I know it's important the Seven see you as their sire.

  Yes, his hunter still had that mortal heart that loved him when it wasn't the least bit to her advantage. She'd be far safer had she never met him. But Elena had never lived a safe life. That won't change if they see me accepting my consort's point. I'd be a stupid archangel if I didn't value my greatest treasure.

  Expression soft in a way that was for him alone, Elena lifted her wineglass. Knhebek, Archangel.

  7

  Elena spoke the words of love in her grandmother's language, felt Raphael's response in the look he gave her. It was blue fire and it was furious tenderness.

  When she turned back to face Illium and Aodhan, she caught the sorrow in Illium's eyes. It was old, that sorrow, came from the loss of the mortal he'd once loved, a woman for whom he'd lost his feathers in punishment and whom he mourned to this day.

  Then Aodhan leaned in to murmur something against his ear. Face lighting up at whatever it was his best friend had said, Illium chuckled.

  "Sire," the light-shattered angel said afterward, his profile a purity of clean lines. "I have been doing further research on the Luminata."

  Intrigued, Elena focused on the angel who was more luminous than any of these Luminata could possibly be.

  "Their leader, Gian," Aodhan continued, "has held his position for four centuries--this is unusual among the Luminata. They are meant to rotate the leadership through their membership every five decades to ensure that politics and power do not distract from or corrupt a member's search for luminescence."

  Raphael, who had gone motionless beside Elena, now said, "How do you know this, Aodhan?"

  "Yes." Illium's tone was as hard as stone. "The Luminata don't exactly advertise their internal workings."

  Elena realized she was missing something, so much withheld aggression in the air that she could've cut it with a knife.

  Aodhan broke eye contact with Raphael to meet Illium's gaze. The words he spoke were edgier than she'd ever heard Aodhan sound. "I'm no longer a broken doll who needs to be protected from those who might play roughly with me."

  Flinching as if he'd been slapped, Illium shoved back his chair and left the library through the doors that stood open to the lawn.

  Elena.

  She was already moving. I've got it. If she hadn't heard that tone in Aodhan's voice before, she hadn't seen that expression on Illium's face, either. So furiously angry and yet hurt. Deeply hurt.

  Following the angel outside, she hoped he hadn't taken off--because if Illium wanted to outpace her, she had no chance in hell of catching up to him. But he was standing on the very edge of the property, on the cliffs that looked down on the dark waters of the Hudson, the Manhattan skyline in the distance. Angels landed on Tower balconies as she watched, but today, even that sight didn't have the power to hold her attention.

  Walking to stand beside Illium, she very deliberately slid her wing over his tightly held ones; a touch that told him he wasn't alone but that made no demands. Words weren't always easy when things mattered.

  The wind was quiet against her face tonight. It pushed Illium's hair back gently from his face, those black strands dipped in blue that simply grew that way, to reveal the lines of a face that held a pure masculine beauty. But beautiful though he was, it hadn't been his looks but the playful wickedness in Illium that had drawn Elena--that light in him, it was a bright, joyful candle against the dark.

  Today, the light was snuffed out, his golden eyes strangely flat--as if he was holding himself in such fierce check that he'd buried the best part of himself. Elena couldn't stand it. She took his hand, wove her fingers through his. He didn't respond for a second, two . . . then, at last, his fingers curled around hers.

  His skin grew warm in the minutes that followed, the horrible flatness retreating from his gaze.

  "Do you know how badly hurt Aodhan was when we found him?" The words trembled. "His wings were all but rotted away, mere strings of tendons, and bone as soft as unfired clay all that remained. All his beautiful feathers gone, the webbing in shreds, his strength stolen and his body encrusted in dirt."

  Horror clawed Elena's gut at the grim recitation. She knew something terrible had happened to Aodhan, bad enough that it had made him retreat from life for two hundred years. He'd imprisoned himself in the Refuge, had refused physical contact with anyone, hadn't laughed, hadn't interacted with the people who loved him.

  It was Illium who'd reached him, Illium who was his best and closest friend.

  "He was so hurt, Ellie," Illium continued without waiting for an a
nswer. "Not just on the outside." He slapped his free hand against his heart. "This, the part that makes Aodhan who he is, it was so badly damaged that I thought I'd lost my friend forever." Tears glittered in his eyes.

  Glancing away, he stared at Manhattan with such harsh focus that she knew he was fighting those tears. His throat moved, his jaw a brutal line.

  It hit her hard, because beauty and playfulness aside, Illium was one of the toughest fighters among Raphael's people. He gave no quarter, was a warrior who'd fly headlong into an enemy squadron if a pitiless charge was what was required.

  "Hey." She flexed her fingers around his, tugging lightly until he turned to face her. "I can take it, Bluebell. Whatever you want to unload." She smiled. "It can't be any worse than Ransom's love life before Nyree took pity on him."

  The bleak despair that gripped him seemed as if it would defeat the bonds of their friendship, but then his lips tugged up a little. Lifting their clasped hands, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. And he was her Bluebell again, beautiful and wild and with power humming in his veins. So much power.

  She sucked in a breath, suddenly realizing she could see every vein in Illium's body--on his neck, down his arms, across his face. They glowed, as if his blood was molten gold. Her heart slammed into her ribcage, propelled by memories of the blazing light that had shoved out of him two years ago.

  He'd almost died that day.

  "Illium."

  "It's nothing dangerous. Comes and goes." A shrug. "There's no attendant surge of power." A sudden grin. "I'm just glow-in-the-dark for a minute or two." The smile faded as quickly as it had come, along with the golden light in his veins.

  Consciously taking a deep breath, then another, Elena lifted a hand to brush his hair off his forehead. Her heart was a racehorse in her chest, but this wasn't about her. "Aodhan hurt you."

  "It's more that he's hurting himself." He looked out at Manhattan again, but he was no longer holding his wings to his back with unforgiving tightness. Opening them a fraction, he allowed his feathers to slide against hers.

  Many people would see that and think it an intimacy. It was. One between friends. Raphael called Illium her favorite. That was true, too. But he wasn't her lover, would never hold that position--that part of Elena belonged always to her archangel. That was why she could hold his hand, why she could slide her wing over his, why he could kiss her knuckles.