Archangel's Heart

34

Elena hadn’t ever before spoken of how Marguerite had been orphaned. “You think she—Majda—was never on that bus, that she was taken and brought to Lumia.” The “ghost” who’d attempted to make an escape on a moonlit night.

Nodding, Elena continued to trace his mark, the wildfire reacting to her as it always did. “I managed to track down newspaper reports of the accident when I was a teenager.” She ran her hand down his jaw to place it flat on his chest. “It wasn’t hard since it was such a big accident, doubly so because so many of the bodies were washed away by the snowmelt-fed river at the bottom of the ravine. Easy and convenient accident to arrange if you were powerful enough.”

Raphael’s eyebrows drew together over his eyes; there was a problem with her theory. But he needed more information before he could be sure. “How did they know your grandmother was even on the bus?”

“She told the nun with whom she left my mom exactly which bus she’d be on—she didn’t want to take my mom since the long round trip would be too grueling.”

Stroking her hair, her back, Raphael said, “Elena, if a powerful angel wanted to take a human woman, especially one who was alone in a large city but for a child, he—or she—would just take the woman. No need to go to the trouble of staging an accident to cover it up.” The victim would just disappear.

Raphael had seen too many twisted immortals to believe such things didn’t happen.

Elena stared at him. “You’re right,” she said in the tone of someone who’d missed the obvious. “So I guess the ghost was just someone’s imagination and the Luminata overreacted because of guilt over something else.”

“Jean-Baptiste’s disappearance,” Raphael suggested. “Majda ran because her husband was taken.”

“Do you think Gian murdered him out of jealousy?”

“I wish I didn’t, but the facts line up too neatly for it to be otherwise . . . and Gian watches you with eyes that are—”

“Stalker-creepy,” Elena suggested, a shiver rippling through her but her voice razor-sharp. “He watches me like I’m a pretty bug he wants to put in a glass jar and keep.”

Gripping his rage in a fist that anyone would dare look at his consort that way, Raphael nodded. “Just so.” Gian would die as soon as they had the answers to Elena’s questions.

“Majda ran to protect her child’s life,” Elena said. “And she never made it back home, never made it out of the river at the bottom of the ravine.” She swallowed. “I’m glad. I’m glad she wasn’t trapped at Lumia, far from her child.”

He kissed away the tears that streaked her face. “Elena.”

Hands closing over his wrists, his hunter said, “She dressed my mother up in a pretty dress and coat, left her with a bag full of snacks and toys. She loved her baby.”

“Did someone keep the clothing, the shoes?”

Elena shook her head. “The nun took a photograph of my mother the day my grandmother died. She knew that once my mother went into the foster system, her history would be lost and she’d never know how much she’d been loved.”

More tears, her eyes haunted. “As a child, I didn’t understand how scared my mom must’ve been when her own mom didn’t come back for her. She was so small, so vulnerable.”

Kissing away her tears once more, Raphael said, “Your grandmother left her in safe hands, hands that cared for her long after others would’ve forgotten her.”

“It doesn’t seem fair, does it, Raphael?” Elena shook her head, the yet-damp strands of her hair brushing against the wings he’d curved around her. “Marguerite lost her mother, then she lost two of her daughters. No one can be expected to bear that much sorrow.” Her shoulders shook, a sob catching in her throat.

Wrapping her tight in his arms, Raphael held her close as Elena cried for a woman who hadn’t been able to bear that awful reality, no matter that she had two living daughters who loved her, needed her to kiss away their own shocked horror. Marguerite Deveraux had put a rope around her neck and ended her pain—and it had been Elena who’d found her. For that, Raphael would never forgive Marguerite, no matter how much pity and sadness he felt for what she’d suffered.

Elena’s nails dug into his back, her wet cheek pressed to his chest. “It’s like our family is cursed.”

“If it was,” Raphael said, “then you have broken the curse.” Cupping the back of her head, he pressed his jaw to her temple. “No one will take my Elena from me. I’ll destroy the world before I allow that to happen.”

“You’re scary, Archangel,” his hunter whispered, shifting back to face him with a tear-wet face that nonetheless held a smile. “But I want to dance with you anyway.”

The words were an echo of the ones she’d spoken to him as they fell in New York, Elena’s broken body in his arms and his wings shredded and useless. Knhebek, hbeebti.

He took another kiss, poured power into her until her skin glowed with it, tried to kiss away the pain that lived so deep in her. He wanted to love her in the most primal way, to drive away the dark with raw pleasure, but in the next room lay a broken Luminata, and above them, the skies pounded with lightning.

“We’ll dance when we are home,” he said, the words a promise.

“Done.” A shaky breath. “It’s such a rush when you do that thing you do.” Her breasts were flushed, her nipples tight.

Raphael smiled. They’d only been able to experience this little eroticism of late, as she became strong enough to bear the merest hint of power he shared with her, bonding them during intimacy. Her body couldn’t hold on to that power for longer than a few seconds, but it was more than enough to ignite pleasure through both their bodies.

“Imagine how much better it’ll feel as we grow together,” he whispered, dropping his head to kiss one pouting nipple.

Elena shuddered. “You’re lethal. And I”—a tug on his hair, a hard kiss—“am your willing victim.”

Elena dressed in the full set of warrior leathers she’d packed just in case, complete with boots that came up to her thighs and would double her protection against knife strikes. The top was sleeveless but had a high neck, and the blades strapped to her upper arms should give pause to anyone who wanted to strike at her. Over her wrists and forearms, she wore metal reinforced leather gauntlets that had been a gift from Titus.

For Raphael’s warrior, he’d written in the note that had accompanied the gift the Archangel of Southern Africa had sent her after the block party in New York.

They fit perfectly and, even better, weren’t decorative but meant to be worn as protection. On the underside, there was a built-in knife sheath, which she now utilized. Then she strapped her crossbow onto her right thigh and, pulling aside her ponytail, slipped her long spine knife into its hidden sheath. The crossbow bolt sheath was easy to wear on her back, designed as it was to sit on her spine and not get in the way of her wings. “Can you pass me those knives, Archangel?”

Raphael handed over the small, sleek throwing knife set she always had on her. With the glamour still around both of them, she could be sure no one was watching as she secreted the blades all over her body.

Her lover’s eyes glinted. “You’re missing something.”

“I am?” Elena glanced at herself. “I’m pretty sure I’m bristling with as many weapons as possible.” She was pissed off at what had been done to Ibrahim as well as the brutal fate that had probably befallen her grandfather—and that had led to her grandmother’s death in a land far from her home.

Raphael lifted a closed fist, opened it. On his palm lay a deadly blade star that could cut a throat if thrown just right. “Ashwini came over to give this to me the morning of our departure, while you were in the shower.”

The other hunter was an expert with the stars, could probably decapitate someone with a slightly larger version, and she’d been teaching Elena how to use them effectively. Eyes wide, Elena picked up the star with utmost care, aware it could slice right through her finger if she wasn’t cautious. “Why are you giving it to me only now?”

“Your strangely prescient friend told me to give it to you once we’d found the broken man.”

As long as Elena had known Ash, her friend’s occasionally spooky predictions still made her shiver. “Did she say anything else?”

“Only that you’d need it.” Raphael’s jaw grew hard. “If you do, use it. Sever the arteries, do whatever you have to do to survive.”

“I have no intention of letting anyone hurt me, Raphael.” Her words were a vow. “These bastards might have terrorized my grandmother, but I’m no simple town girl. I’m a fucking hunter, and I’m the fucking consort to the Archangel of New York.”

Hauling Raphael down to her after slipping the blade star carefully into a spot in her leathers built to hold the weapon, she kissed him with red-hot fury. “Now let’s kick these assholes into oblivion.”

Raphael bit at her lower lip. “Are you tired? From the wildfire transfer?”

“Not tired, but I feel like I’ll need more sleep than usual when I crash.” Another kiss. “But I’m not crashing anytime yet.”

“I’ll be there to catch you if you do, my damsel.”

“Ha ha. Funny. Not.”

Raphael’s smile was a kick to the gut.

He, too, had discarded his wet clothing, now wore a set of faded brown leathers that had stood the test of time. He carried no weapons, but if he needed one or three, she had more than enough for both of them. It was good to be a consort.

The room still held only Aodhan, Ibrahim, and the healer with the terrible scarring on his neck and face. But Aodhan stepped aside from the door at Elena and Raphael’s return. “Gian wishes to enter. I told him to wait.”

Good call, Elena thought, as an angry-faced Gian was allowed in at last.

“What is the meaning of this?” the coldly furious Luminata leader demanded, staring down Aodhan as if he was some underling who’d crumple under pressure. “I am the head of the Luminata. On whose authority do you bar me from seeing to the welfare of one of my own?”

“Mine.”

Had Elena’s hair been unbound instead of in a tight ponytail, it would’ve been pushed back from her face at the sheer force of the power pulsing off Raphael. He was glowing again, the glow hard enough to hurt mortal eyes . . . but it didn’t hurt Elena’s. Not any longer.

Near the door, Gian drew up his shoulders, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe and his face devoid of any marks that fingered him as Ibrahim’s attacker. That didn’t necessarily mean anything—Gian was old enough to have healed superficial wounds by now. And while Ibrahim would’ve fought, he would’ve also been taken by surprise. It was possible he hadn’t done any easily visible damage.

“Lumia does not fall under the Cadre’s authority,” Gian said, his eyes hard though he’d schooled his expression into Luminata calm.

“No, Gian.” Raphael’s tone told the other man to tread with care. “I had the records checked prior to the meeting. Lumia falls under no one archangel’s authority. It falls under that of all of us. That stipulation is how Lumia achieved independence.”

Elena’s mouth would’ve fallen open had she not been clenching her jaw at the sight of poor Ibrahim lying so hurt nearby. Laric had pulled a blanket over his wounded body, continued to work on him with gentle hands, but there was no hiding the extent of the damage.

Gian smiled a small smile that was so astonishingly sincere Elena would’ve believed it had she not already learned that he lied with flawless ease. If he’d been human, she’d have called him a psychopath.

As if he’d caught her thoughts, his eyes flicked to her for a single heartbeat before he said, “That is untrue.” His confidence was a peaceful thing. “Lumia is an island of self-governance, our laws and rules our own.”

“On the contrary.” Neha’s elegant voice as the Archangel of India appeared in the open doorway.

She’d changed out of her sari into something akin to warrior leathers, though her clothing was of a tough-looking dark green material that appeared new. Elena wasn’t fooled by the latter. Raphael had told her how good Neha was in combat. Just because she chose to be a lady most of the time didn’t mean she wasn’t also a deadly fighter.

“Raphael is quite correct,” Neha said, the elegant lines of her face exposed by the French braid into which she’d plaited her hair. “The stipulation is on Lumia’s founding documents.” An icy smile shot in Raphael’s direction, but no audible words.

What did she say? Elena asked Raphael mind-to-mind.