Archangel's Kiss (12 page)

F
ive days after Raphael had loved her into merciful oblivion, Elena found herself sitting in a quiet, sunlit garden. The dreams hadn’t returned since that night, but she could feel them heavy on the horizon, a storm she wasn’t ready to face. If she hadn’t had the pitiless discipline of Dmitri’s brand of training to keep her occupied, her mind might have beaten itself into insanity in an effort to escape the constant pressure. Because oddly, the Refuge had gone quiet, too, the assault on Noel a seeming aberration.

However, Raphael’s anger hadn’t abated a fraction. “Nazarach denies involvement,” he’d said to her last night as he played his fingers down the plane of her stomach. “I could break his mind, but if he’s telling the truth, I’d have to kill him, losing one of the strongest angels in my territory.”

Elena had swallowed at the ease with which he spoke of tearing open the other angel’s mind, an angel another hunter had once described to Elena as a “monster who’d probably smile as he fucked you to death.” “Nazarach would turn against you?”

“As you would if I did the same to you, Elena.” His hand played with the top edge of her panties. “I must have proof—or I stand to lose not only his loyalty, but also that of the other strong angels who look to me.”

She gripped his wrist, squeezed. Always he gave. Her body wanted him to take. But there was a warning in his gaze, a passion so dark she knew she wasn’t ready, wasn’t strong enough. Not yet. “Do you need him to hold power?”

He flattened his hand on her abdomen, dipping his head to take her lips in a lazy kiss that made her toes curl into the sheets. Easing them both down from the razor-sharp edge of hunger. “No.”

It took her two long seconds to find the breath to reply. “Then?”

“Humans need him, Elena.” An almost gentle reminder.

She saw the nightmare he was trying to spare her. “The only reason more vampires don’t give in to bloodlust is because an angel has them on a leash.”

“And even an archangel can’t control every single vampire within his borders. I’d have to slaughter them all if they turned to blood.” A raised eyebrow. “Such shadows in your eyes. What do you know of Nazarach?”

“Another hunter did a track for him a while back.” Ashwini had refused point-blank to return to Atlanta when an unrelated job came up. “She said his house was full of screams, full of a pain that could drive the sane into hell itself. He apparently took two female vampires to his bed for no reason but to punish their men.”

“Vampires choose their eternity when they choose to be Made.” A silky answer.

And one she couldn’t argue with. Even her sister, Beth, had attempted to be accepted as a Candidate, though she’d witnessed her husband’s barbaric punishment at the hands of the angel he called master. “Do you believe Nazarach?”

“He lies with ease, but he’s not the only one arrogant enough to believe he can become an archangel.”

“Who else is in the Refuge, or was at the time?” They’d both agreed that the instigator would’ve been close enough to witness—to revel in—the results of his actions. “Dahariel?” That emotionless gaze, akin to that of the bird of prey whose wings he bore, had spoken of an icily rational mind, able to justify any act if it led to a successful outcome.

A nod. “Also Anoushka, Neha’s daughter, has been here for several weeks.”

Neha, the Queen of Poisons, of Snakes.

Shivering to think of what her offspring might be capable of, Elena picked up one of the volumes Jessamy had given her and turned her mind to the present, to the prettiness of her surroundings. She’d never have found this secret garden without the blue-winged angel sprawled by her side.

Wildflowers bloomed in bold abandonment, gleefully surrounding the marble pavilion where they’d chosen to sit. The pavilion itself was simple yet elegant in design—four columns holding up a roof that had been carved in faithful imitation of a silk tent from the Arabian lands. “It’s way too cold for these flowers.” She touched the cheerful pumpkin-colored petals of one that brushed against her thigh as she sat with her feet hanging over the edge.

“The flowers began blooming without warning a month ago.” Illium shrugged. “We enjoy them—why question such a gift?”

“I see your point.” Opening the book, she spread her wings on the cool marble. With her muscle strength increasing day by day, they no longer seemed a burden but a natural extension of her self. “It says here that the Archangel Wars began because of a dispute over territory.”

Illium sat up from his lazy sprawl, his hair tumbling messily over one eye. “That’s the whitewashed version for our children,” he said, pushing it back. “The truth, as always, is far more human. It all began with a woman.”

“Oh yeah?” She made no effort to hide her skepticism.

His smile was a wicked tease. “I’m going to fly. Call if you need me.”

She watched him walk to the edge of a rocky cliff, sweep off in a wave of exquisite silver blue. Then, frowning, she thought,
Raphael
.

The answer came in a split second.
Yes
, he said,
it did begin over a woman
.

Elena almost ripped the page in her hand.
How long have you been listening in?
He hadn’t once forced her to act against her will since their silent understanding high above the Refuge, but this—the violation of her thoughts, her secrets—it was as bad. Maybe worse. Because she’d trusted him with her pain, chosen to expose a part of herself she kept tightly held.

“I don’t think so.” If it had gone both ways, she might’ve been able to accept it. But it didn’t. And she’d fought too hard for her right to be who she was to resign herself to the situation. Taking a deep breath, she shoved mentally outward with all her willpower.

Sudden silence.
Raphael?

Nothing. No scent of rain inside her head. A scent she hadn’t realized she’d been smelling until it was gone. There was no headache, not immediately, but she began to feel the strain after an hour of reading about the wars. It said that Titus had sided with Neha and Nadiel, while Charisemnon had fought beside Antonicus. Lijuan had remained impartial. “Nadiel, Antonicus,” she said under her breath, having never before heard those names.

Reaching up to rub at her throbbing temple, she turned the page. The lovingly detailed image took her breath away. The woman’s face was a study in purity, her eyes an impossible blue Elena had seen on only one other being, her hair dark as the night . . . dark as Raphael’s. “Caliane,” she read. “Archangel of Sumeria.”

A shooting pain down her neck, and she knew it was time to drop the shield. She’d held it far longer than she’d been able to as a mortal, but not long enough—so she’d have to save it for those secrets she couldn’t bear to expose to the world, couldn’t even bear to expose to herself.

The scent of wind, of the rain, didn’t immediately reappear. But another scent did.

It wasn’t in her head, she realized at almost the same instant. It was in the air.

Adrenaline spiking, she dropped the book and rose to her feet as Michaela landed in front of her. The visual impact was stunning. Much as Elena disliked her, there was no escaping the truth. Michaela’s wings were a gorgeous bronze, her body a landscape of curves and hollows balanced to perfection. And her face . . . there wasn’t another as striking in the world.

“So”—lush lips shaping into a smile that made Elena very happy she had her gun with her—“I’ve unearthed the little mouse Raphael has been hiding.” The archangel stepped into the pavilion, her wings caressed to amber by the rays of a sun just beginning to set. She was dressed in sleek camel-colored pants today, her “top” consisting of a single strip of soft white fabric that had been wound around her neck to create a halter before being crisscrossed over her breasts to tie in a knot below her wings. Clean, sexy, inviting.

Elena knew exactly who the invitation was aimed at. Her fingers curled into her palms, common sense crashing and burning in the face of the possessive anger that gripped her by the throat. “I didn’t know you found me that fascinating.”

Michaela’s eyes narrowed. “You’re an angel now, hunter. And I’m your superior.”

“I don’t think so.”

The archangel glanced at the book. “That’s the company you should be keeping. The half-angel is more your status.”

To hear Jessamy—wise, kind, intelligent—described in such a denigrating way made Elena see red. “She’s ten times the woman you’ll ever be.”

Michaela flicked a hand, as if the idea was so ridiculous, it didn’t even bear consideration. “She’s three thousand years old, and she spends her days shut up with dusty tomes no one but a cripple would consider enticing.”

“Galen apparently finds her far more than enticing.” It was a shot in the dark.

But it hit home. “Galen’s a pup who hasn’t yet learned to choose his enemies.”

“He didn’t want you, either?” Elena said, and even she knew it was a provocation. “But of course, he must’ve taken his cue from his sire.” The breath slammed out of her as she flew through the air to smash up against the marble column on the other side of the pavilion. It hurt like hell, but nothing seemed broken.

That was when it hit her. The cold fist of fear. “Where’s Illium?”

“Otherwise engaged.” A mocking smile as the archangel walked closer, her every move inherently sensual. “You’re bleeding, hunter. How very clumsy of me.”

Elena tasted iron from the cut on her lip, but her eyes stayed locked on Michaela. She was well aware the bitch was playing with her, that she’d come here for that specific reason. “If you’ve harmed him, Raphael will hunt you down.”

“And if I harm you?”

“
I’ll
hunt you down.” Kicking out, she slammed her right foot against Michaela’s knee.

To her shock, the archangel went down. But it was, Elena thought, more surprise than anything else, because she was up again a second later, her eyes glowing from within. “I think,” the archangel said in a tone that reminded Elena eerily of Uram’s sadistic brand of evil, “I’m willing to find out what Raphael will do to someone who dares hurt his little pet.”

Elena pressed the trigger on the gun she’d managed to draw the instant after Michaela fell. Nothing happened. Then her fingers unclasped, digit by stiff digit, to drop the weapon to the marble. She felt something hit her chest at the same instant, but when she looked down, there was nothing there. Her heart began to thump in panic. An instant later, it felt as if bone-thin fingers—hard, tipped with nails filed to malicious points—were closing around that panicked organ, squeezing until blood filled her mouth, dripped down her chin.

Michaela looked almost amused. “Good-bye, hunter.”

Elena saw a flash of blue to her right, glimpsed Illium surrounded by wings, covered in blood. Feeling returned to her fingers at the same instant. “Bitch.” It was a soundless whisper meant to distract as her hand closed on the knife hidden in the side pocket of her pants. Gripping it with all the stubborn determination she had in her, she ignored the pain, ignored the blood welling up in her mouth, and threw.

Michaela shrieked, her hand dropping to the side as the blade embedded itself in her eye. A white-hot fire scorched the pavilion in the next breath, but it was Michaela who ended up smashed unconscious against the back column, not Elena. Trying to see through eyes that watered against the haze of power, Elena glimpsed Raphael, his hands ringed with the deadly glow of angelfire.

She spit out the blood. “No.” A croak no one would be able to hear.
Raphael, no, she’s not worth it.
He’d killed Uram because it had had to be done, but it had taken something from him to end the life of another archangel. She’d felt the scar, though how, she couldn’t say.
I provoked her.

It doesn’t matter. She came here to kill you.
He raised his hand, the blue flames licking up his arms, and she knew Michaela was going to die. Sliding to the ground as her legs went out from beneath her, she said something she’d never said to any other man.
I need you.

Raphael’s head snapped to her, his eyes alien in their luminescence. Time froze. And then he was kneeling by her side, the blue fire sucked back inside his body in a violent backdraft. “Elena.” He touched her cheek, and she felt an odd warmth invade her body, touch her bruised heart. An instant later, the beat smoothed out.

Raising arms that trembled in reaction, she drew him to her, holding his head as she whispered in his ear. “Don’t let her turn you into what she is. Don’t let her win.”

“She came to harm that which is mine. I can’t let that go unpunished.”

Possession was a wall of black flame in his eyes, but she knew it was about more than that. “It’s about power, right?”

A nod that sent midnight silk sliding over her hands, her archangel willing to listen to reason. For now.

“She’s out, unconscious, with my blade in her eye. Leave her somewhere where everyone can see that.”

“That’s bloodthirsty of you.” Lips against hers, his rage held in check. “The humiliation will be worse than any physical torment.”

“The bitch not only came after me, she hurt Illium. Is he—”

“He’s one of my Seven,” Raphael said. “He’ll live—though I wouldn’t say the same for Michaela’s men.”

“Poor Bluebell,” she said, looking out to see Illium bring down the last angel who’d been fighting with him. “It seems he’s always being wounded for—” Her throat closed up as Illium sliced the wings off the fallen male with a sword he’d pulled out of literally nowhere. “Raphael . . .”

“It’s a fitting punishment.” Rising to his feet, he went to Michaela’s body. The other archangel made a moaning sound as he lifted her, but didn’t regain consciousness. “Stay, Elena. I will return for you.”