Archangel's Kiss (20 page)

“Show me.”

He did, adding, “The rapier is, at heart, a thrusting weapon. Use it.”

The rest of the morning passed in an increasingly grueling manner.

Three hours later, she was dripping sweat, and they’d drawn a crowd of curious onlookers. Galen didn’t let up, ordering her into another sparring session. She could feel her wings dragging, her leg muscles quivering.

Bastard.
Refusing to let him drive her into the ground, she avoided his blows with deliberately sluggish movements . . . until he dropped his guard for the barest fraction of an instant. Then she lunged. The rapier hit his shoulder, sinking in several inches.

Red dripped down the tanned skin of his chest.

A horrified gasp from the onlookers. But Galen just wrenched his body away from the blade, lowered his own weapon, and held out his hand for hers. “Good. You should’ve done that an hour ago.”

Wanting to stab him with it, she handed over the rapier. “I’ve got the basics, but it’ll take me time to become effective with this.” Time she didn’t have.

“We’ll focus on throwing knives later, but you need some skill with a longer blade in case you have to fight in close quarters.” Pale green eyes locked with hers. “If you plan on surviving Lijuan’s idea of a ball, you need to stop acting human and go directly for the jugular.” He left the training ring without another word.

All she wanted to do was collapse in a puddle of jelly, but pride kept her upright.

No one got in her way as she left the ring, though she felt eyes on her the entire distance to Raphael’s stronghold. Guns and knives, she thought as she entered, were the lightest, most versatile weapons for everyday use. The rapier was a bit too long, but a shorter sword . . . yeah, that might work.

Too bad about the miniature flamethrower in her stash. It wouldn’t exactly be easy to carry around on a day-to-day basis—and while it’d be effective against vampires, it’d only enrage an angel. The best she could hope for with an angel was to disable him—or her—long enough to get a head start.

She was so busy going over her options that it took her several minutes to realize she’d turned right instead of left after entering the main hallway. Might as well keep going, she thought, too damn exhausted to turn back—the passage would eventually spit her out into the central core. Rubbing the back of her neck, she saw the walls here were hung with lush jewel-toned silks that shifted in the breeze coming in through the windows high above. The carpet underneath her feet echoed the theme, being a deep rose accented with the faintest hint of amethyst.

A giggle carried on the air currents.

She froze, realizing the import of her surroundings. Rich and exotic and almost too vibrant, the colors stroking over her with velvet fingers. The last time she’d been in a place this soaked with sensuality, it had been the vampire wing of the Tower. And Dmitri had all but fucked a woman in front of her. It didn’t matter that they’d both been clothed; that curvy little blonde had been a whisper’s breath away from orgasm.

It was too late to turn back. Steeling her spine . . . and sensing the familiar, primal scent of a tiger on the hunt, she began hauling ass. But her head insisted on turning toward an open doorway, insisted on glimpsing that sleek, muscled back of flawless brown touched with gold, insisted on watching that silver-maned head bend over the neck of a woman who sighed in unmistakable sexual submission.

A woman with wings.

Her feet bolted themselves to the floor. Naasir was feeding from an angel, and from her breathy moans, the way her hands clutched at his biceps, it was obvious who held the reins. Unable to look away, she watched Naasir close his fingers over the flesh of one plump breast. The angel’s head fell back, exposing her neck—begging for another blood kiss—as he lifted his head. As he turned. As those eyes of liquid platinum locked with Elena’s.

Shivering, she wrenched her own head back around and continued on her way as fast as her legs would carry her. It was a relief to exit into the central core of the house with its vaulted ceiling and abundance of light.
Dear God.
There’d been sex in those eyes, on that face, but there’d also been a darker need, a darker hunger . . . as if he’d as easily tear open his lover’s chest and drink straight from her still-pumping heart as fuck her.

Goose bumps broke out over her spine. She pitied the hunter who ever had to track that silver-eyed beast of prey through the night.

 

 

T
wenty minutes later, she was clean, a towel wrapped around her body as she sat on the bed rubbing her calves, and contemplating the walk to Jessamy’s classroom. But her mind insisted on returning to the disturbing tableau she’d glimpsed in the vampire wing, the foreignness of it all suddenly overwhelming.

This place, with its piercing beauty and secrets, its violence wrapped in peace, it wasn’t home. She was mortal in her heart—and there were no mortals here. Cranky taxi drivers zipping by in the rain, snappily dressed investment bankers with cell phones surgically attached to their ears, bruised and bloody hunters cracking jokes after a difficult track—that was her life. And she missed it all until she couldn’t breathe.

Holding the towel more firmly around herself—wings and all—she picked up the phone. Hoping desperately that her best friend was awake, she listened to it ring on the other end.

“Hello.” A deep, masculine tone, as welcome as Sara’s would’ve been.

“Deacon, it’s me.”

“Ellie, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“You, too.” Fisting her hand on the towel, she blinked away unexpected tears. “Is it late there?”

“No. I was watching
Sesame Street
with Zoe. She’s just gone to sleep.”

“How is she?” Elena hated that she’d missed out on a year of her goddaughter’s life.

“Caught a little cold,” Deacon said. “But Slayer’s got her back.”

Elena smiled at the reference to the slobbering hellhound of a dog who thought Zoe was
his
. “Sara?”

“You two must have a psychic hotline going.” Quiet humor, very Deacon. “She was about to call you but she went out like a light right after dinner. Had a tough few days at the Guild—almost lost one of her hunters.”

Elena’s heart crashed into her ribs. “Who?”

“Ashwini.” He named the hunter who’d first told Elena about Nazarach. “She got cornered by a pack of vamps in some back alley in Boston—apparently they were out to settle a score because she tracked one of them after he went rogue. They cut her up pretty bad.”

“Are they dead?” An ice-cold question.

“Ash killed two, wounded the others. Ink wasn’t even dry on the execution orders when their heads were delivered to the Guild, express delivery.”

“Probably their angel.” For the most part, angels did
not
like vampires acting out. It was bad for business. “Is Ash okay?”

“Doctors say no lasting damage. A month recovery tops.”

Relief made her entire body tremble. “Thank God.”

“What about you, Ellie?”

The care in those words had her swallowing. “I’m okay. Getting used to this new body. Things don’t work the same, you know?”

“I have an idea for a special crossbow for you.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to design it so you can strap it over one arm comfortably, instead of over your back. That way, you won’t have to worry about your wings.”

“Sounds good.”

“What do you think of lightweight bolts? They’ll do the job without weighing you down in flight.”

“Can you make it so it loads automatically?” Galen could go eat his sword, she thought. Childish, yeah, but it made her feel better. “I need speed.”

“Something with small spinning sawblades might be better—let me work on it. You can use the bolts for chipping and the blades for serious defense.” A pause. “You are coming back to the Guild?”

“Of course.” She was hunter-born. Wings didn’t change that.

 

 

R
aphael met Neha’s eyes on the wide screen mounted on the wall. The Queen of Snakes, of Poisons, sat in a chair carved out of a light-colored wood that gleamed. The sheen did nothing to hide the fact that the carvings were of a thousand writhing snakes, their scales catching the light as Neha leaned back, the bindi on her forehead a tiny golden cobra.

“Raphael.” Her lips—red, lush, poisonous—parted. “I hear there is trouble in the Refuge.”

“An angel who seeks to become an archangel.”

“Yes, so my daughter tells me.” She waved an elegantly shaped hand, the bangles on her wrists making a delicate clinking sound. “There’s always one who seeks to rise above his station.” Reaching forward, she picked up something, the silk of her emerald-colored sari a quiet rustle. “But I agree, this one must be punished in a way that’ll never be forgotten. Our children are too rare to be used as pawns.”

Raphael knew that in spite of the way she’d phrased that, Neha was one of the few members of the Cadre who treated human children as precious. That didn’t stop her from ending adult lives—but any resulting orphans grew up in the lap of poisonous luxury, the memories of their parents’ agonizing deaths wiped from their minds.

“Anoushka,” she now said, stroking the python she’d placed in her lap, “says you know of the distasteful object that was left in her bed.”

“You have many enemies.” And Anoushka, he thought, was beginning to grow a phalanx of her own.

Her hand moved over the snake’s viridian skin, sleek, sensuous, as if she were petting a lover. “Yes.”

“Have you heard anything from the others that may help in the hunt?” The one they sought may well have made mistakes in any acts predating the assaults within the Refuge.

“Titus and Charisemnon have closed their borders—none of my people can get in or out.” An irritated light filled those dark eyes. “Favashi mentioned something about losing a few of her older vampires two months ago. She hasn’t yet tracked down the perpetrator.” This time, Raphael saw open disbelief.

Neha, he knew, would have killed and kept killing until someone confessed. It wasn’t the best way to get to the truth—but then, the Queen of Poisons had never had a rebellion in her lands. “How is Eris?” It was only as the words left his mouth that he realized he’d lied to Elena. There
was
another long-term archangelic pairing. But it hadn’t been a lie with intent—he’d simply forgotten about Eris, as most people did.

“He lives.” Neha’s words were chilling in their very preciseness. “Anoushka is going through her people to find the traitor who defiled her bed. I’ll let you know if she unearths anything of value.”

As he terminated the connection, Raphael thought of the last time he’d seen Eris.

Three hundred years ago.

E
lena was reading a dossier of current events in a corner of the classroom while the kids created presents for Sam using arts and crafts when the sea crashed into her mind.

Something’s happened
, she thought before Raphael could speak, scanning the classroom with frantic eyes to ensure everyone was present.
Not another child?

Her soul iced over at the thought of what an angel who used death as her symbol would consider a suitable gift.
Do you know what it is?

She couldn’t help her shiver.
We’re going to visit Sam. I’ll be by after.
She had a feeling the gift wouldn’t exactly put her in the right frame of mind to be seeing a hurt child.

Anyone but Galen.
She had nothing against his skills as a weapons master—bastard was good. But his dislike of her was as solid as rock. And even on such short acquaintance, she understood that he wasn’t the kind of man who’d easily change his mind. Better to save them both the aggravation and avoid unnecessary contact.

The sea began to retreat.
I must go.

She wanted to ask him what else was going on, but decided to keep her questions ’til their meeting over the “gift.” For now, she was going to focus on the children, their excitement infectious as they readied themselves to visit their friend . . . not an archangel who found pleasure only in the dead.

 

 

R
aphael flew to a distant corner of the Refuge, the echo of Elena’s mental touch still resonant in his mind. Elijah was waiting for him on a rocky outcropping far from prying eyes, his golden hair whipped by the mountain winds. Landing, Raphael joined him on the cliff edge. “What have you found?”

“They haven’t just closed their borders,” the other archangel replied. “Titus is readying himself to move against Charisemnon.”

Archangels didn’t meddle in each other’s affairs, even when those affairs led to mass bloodshed, but they needed to be prepared. “Titus refuses to accept that his evidence might be false?”

“He will not believe that a
mere
angel could’ve played them so very easily,” Elijah said, “sparking a war that keeps them entangled in their own lands while this pretender desecrates the Refuge.”

Raphael stared out at the white-capped peaks beyond the gorge, thinking about their policy of noninterference. “Even in a border war, thousands will die. And yet we consider that an acceptable toll to maintain the balance of power within the Cadre.”

Elijah took a long time to reply. “That’s a very human statement, Raphael.”

Lijuan had said that to him, after advising him to kill Elena.

The older archangel had been right—Elena had changed something in him. He bled faster, healed slower. But he’d also been given the most unexpected of gifts. “Perhaps it’ll keep me sane when I reach Lijuan’s age.”