Guild Hunter: Archangel's Shadows Part 3

Elena snorted, in no doubt of Caliane's acerbic tone. "Can you blame her? First you send her a tiger creature who eats people he doesn't like, and then a vampire with the eyes and fangs of a viper." She held up a finger. "Oh, and let's not forget the mortal you keep as a pet."

"My mother does not consider you my pet, Elena. She is very kind to pets."

"Oh, ouch!"

Amus.e.m.e.nt fading, Raphael closed the distance between them to cup her jaw. "You were in the infirmary after you bathed."

"Yes." It had become habit to drop in a couple of times a day. And if it continued to terrify her to build bonds with so many men and women who could die in the battles to come, each death cutting away another piece of her heart, she was taking it one day, one friendship, at a time.

"Mood is upbeat," she told Raphael after wrapping her arms around his neck, "especially since Galen has given the order that anyone remotely ambulatory is to be up and active or else." Her lips curved. "I heard him cursed in at least eight different languages, threatened with murder and other more creative forms of revenge by a number of very sweaty angels and vampires." All of whom had been injured either in the Falling or in the fight against Lijuan. "My personal favorite had to do with marmalade, spiders, rope bondage, and a giant vat."

"Then it is as well my weapons-master is in the Refuge."

"As if any of that would faze Galen. He'd probably eat the spiders and tear the ropes apart with his bare hands." The angel, built like a tank, was a force of nature. "But beneath the complaining, all I saw was relief. The ones who're up are happy to be worked so hard, treated like the warriors they are, and the ones who aren't yet mobile have both a source of amus.e.m.e.nt and a goal."

Raphael slid his arms around her waist and pulled her off her perch as he turned at an impossible angle, his wing arching across her vision before he brought them to a vertical hover. "So, tonight," he said, his breath a kiss against her lips, "our people are safe, the city is under watch, and I can spend the night with my consort."

Stealing a kiss from the archangel who was her own personal and very private drug, Elena said, "Now," and he released her.

She spread her wings, swept out into the cold breeze, her joy in flight a living thing inside her. The sky was a brilliant show of scarlet and orange now, the snowy sprawl of Central Park ablaze and the skysc.r.a.pers glowing like faceted gemstones. In contrast to the wild color of the sky, the air was crystalline, frosty with cold. Her lungs expanded in pure physical pleasure. Then she glanced to the left and felt her forehead wrinkle.

Raphael had dipped lower than her, and the white fire that had become more and more apparent to her licked sunset-kissed flames over his feathers. You're burning again, and don't tell me it's an illusion.

Banking right, Raphael soared up, then swept back down beside her. It makes no rational sense for my wings to become aflame-what use is an archangel who cannot fly?

Are you having any difficulty at the moment?

No. A short pause. In point of fact, I'm cutting through the wind more smoothly than usual.

Given that Raphael's usual skills were phenomenal, that was a serious a.s.set. The edge of your wing is totally engulfed in white fire all the way up to your secondary coverts, she told him. Come closer and under me so I can touch your wing. Elena was getting better at flight with every day that pa.s.sed, but that kind of a fine maneuver was currently beyond her.

Raphael shifted into the position she'd requested, part of his wing under her hand. Reaching out, she touched her fingers to the white fire. I can feel your feathers beneath the fire. Silky and strong and as they'd always been. But the flame is playing over my fingers. It's cool to the touch and it feels like you. Impossible as it was to explain, she could feel the rain and the wind against her fingertips, sense the crashing sea.

Raphael swept up to fly beside her. Once again we have company.

d.a.m.n it. I wish they'd wear bells or something. She'd totally missed the Legion fighters who'd come alongside them, both of them dressed in basic black combat leathers, no sleeves.

When she glanced at the one to her left, it was to find him staring at her.

Black haired and golden skinned, he had pale, pale eyes ringed in a pure blue that echoed Raphael's, his wings a beaten gold where an angel's largest flight feathers would be. In contrast, where the Legion fighter's wings grew out of his back, the leathery texture was a black identical to the black in Elena's wings, the color bleeding into a midnight blue that merged with the gold.

It was the same exact coloring as the Primary had, the Legion all minted on the same press, but she knew this wasn't the Primary. While the leader of the Legion gave off a sense of terrible age, of infinite memory, this fighter appeared oddly young to Elena's senses. As if he'd been barely formed before their eons-long Sleep in the deep.

Raising her hand, she waved, just to see what he would do. Only the Primary had spoken to Elena and Raphael thus far. Interaction such as she'd had with him on the rooftop that day was even rarer. "h.e.l.lo!" she called out in concert with her wave.

The Legion fighter tilted his head to the side like a curious bird and swung closer. Then he raised his hand and echoed Elena's move. Delighted, she laughed and waved back. His lips moved, as if he were trying to figure out how to laugh or smile. Though he gave up the attempt soon afterward, he stayed by her side across the Hudson.

Do you wish me to command them to stop the escort?

Elena shook her head at Raphael's question. They seem to like doing it for some reason and it's harmless enough. The escort home-whether to the Enclave or to the Tower-had begun quietly, soon after the initial postbattle repairs were complete, and was now a ritual. Unless you're planning to sweep me up into a dance . . .

Are you agreeing to be naked above Manhattan?

Not this century. Skin heating at even the idea of it, though not all of that heat was mortification, she swept down to the river. The Legion fighter dropped with her and skimmed over the rippling water at her side, a puzzled expression on his face. I think he's trying to figure out why I'd want to do this.

I do not think the Legion yet understands joy. Raphael winged down to join her before the two of them soared back up almost vertically to reach the top of the cliff beyond which sat their home. Elena's muscles strained at the ascent but she was exhilarated at completing it without faltering.

"Yes!" She pumped her arm up and down as she joined Raphael on the lawn.

The Legion fighter landed beside her, while his partner came down next to Raphael. Turning to her archangel, she said, "How was my form?" It was a serious question.

"You're listing slightly to the left."

"I had that feeling. I can't quite get the balance right." Frowning, she settled her wings and looked to the Legion fighter who'd waved at her. "Any tips?"

"You are accustomed to carrying a crossbow on the right side of your body, and you tilt to balance yourself out even when you don't have it strapped on."

Elena stared. Did I just imagine that or did he speak?

He spoke. Raphael shifted his attention to the fighter. "Your insight is acute." Turning to Elena when the fighter inclined his head toward him, in the way the Legion had of doing with Raphael, he said, "You don't need to fix the listing. Learn to be aware of it and conscious of how it affects your balance when you don't have the crossbow."

Elena nodded, thanked the Legion fighter, then said, "Want to come for a walk?" to him and his partner both. "I'm heading to the greenhouse."

Guild Hunter, what are you doing?

Trying to humanize them, so to speak. She couldn't keep being disturbed by a force that belonged so deeply to her and Raphael that the knowledge was a hum in her bones. Wouldn't you need a few pointers if you'd been buried at the bottom of the ocean for millennia?

"I will tell Montgomery to send refreshments to you."

When Elena swiveled on her heel to walk toward the greenhouse, both Legion fighters fell in with her. Hah, she said to Raphael, bet you didn't think they'd accept my invitation.

You would win that bet.

Blowing him a kiss over her shoulder, she carried on to the greenhouse. She usually took off most of her weapons once inside the warm, humid haven, though she kept them within easy reach, but today she didn't unstrap a single knife. It was one thing to try to get to know them, another to blindly trust a millennia-old force that had come out of nowhere, hum in the bones or not.

She was hyperconscious of the fighters standing silently on either side of the doorway while she checked her plants. When Montgomery, dressed as per usual in an elegant black suit, his shirt white, arrived with a tray of coffee and small, delicious things, she said, "Have I told you how much I love you, Montgomery?"

"Not today, my lady."

Elena winced inwardly. The butler had become used to calling her "Guild Hunter," and then the battle had happened and he'd reverted. "What did you bring?" she asked, knowing Montgomery would've already noted his mistake.

"eclairs made fresh by Sivya, blueberry m.u.f.fins, and fruit." Pouring the coffee into a mug for her and adding two sugars, he placed it on her bench. "Would the gentlemen like a drink?"

Elena looked to the fighters, held up her mug in a silent question.

One of them finally spoke. "We do not require fuel."

"Then I will leave you to your work, Guild Hunter."

Figuring her two guests might have hit their limit when it came to new experiences, she returned to her plants . . . and became aware they'd closed the distance to her in deadly silence.

6.

Skin p.r.i.c.kling, she waited to see what they'd do.

Nothing.

Her eyes fell on the empty terra-cotta pots she'd lined up at the back of her bench. Inspired, she gave each fighter one, curious to see their response. "Could you fill these with soil for me? The bag's over there."

They moved to the bag as one and began to scoop out the rich potting soil using their hands. About to tell them to stop, put on gloves, she realized it would make no difference to the two. When asked, the Primary said the Legion were "of the earth, of life." Now, as they dug their hands into the soil, she saw an unexpected easing in the shoulders of both males, their lashes lowering and chests expanding.

Raphael.

Do you need a rescue?

No. Seeing her fighter had filled his pot, she said, "Why don't you transfer one of these seedlings?" She indicated the flat, shallow tray in which she'd nurtured several different plants to life.

As she watched, he removed one with care, placed it into the pot after scooping out a hole, then gently patted in the soil around it.

I think we need to create gardens in the Legion building. Part of the roof, some of the larger planned balconies, areas under a skylight, all of them will work.

Raphael's response was immediate. They are of the earth, must be nourished by it in some way while they're active. It is why they are so often in Central Park.

That's what I think, she said, seeing the second fighter join the first and, after a glance at her for permission, reach into the seedling tray.

Are you able to take on the task of organizing the gardens?

Yes. It would be a fascinating project, and perhaps one in which she could involve some of the injured who weren't yet ready for full duties.

"It is done."

Taking in the beautifully potted plants the fighters set in front of her, she said, "Want to do more?"

It was an hour later that she returned to the house, having left the two men in the greenhouse, after a.s.suring them they could stay as long as they liked. She'd seen movement through the gla.s.s from the outside, their silhouetted hands touching the leaves of the overhanging ferns.

Heading upstairs, she changed, then tracked Raphael down in his study. After having come so close to never again feeling his touch, she didn't deny her need to be close to her archangel. Life was unpredictable-they might not have a quiet night together for another week or month if things went to s.h.i.t again.

"Dinner will be a while," she said, sliding her arms around his waist. "I've decided to seduce you for my entree."

The erotic, exotic taste of angel dust on her lips, on her skin, Raphael's silent response making her shiver. He was dipping his head toward her when a chime interrupted the silence. It came from the large video screen built into the wall to Elena's left. There were very few people who had the direct code, but that included his mother and the entire Cadre.

"It is t.i.tus," Raphael said after glancing at the incoming caller ID.

Elena frantically brushed the incriminating shimmer of angel dust off his lips and face, then tried to wipe her own using the bottom of her T-shirt, while her body continued to throb with s.e.xual heat. "Well?"

Rubbing his thumb over the side of her mouth, Raphael fed her the bone-melting taste. "We should stay in the shadows."

Elena groaned but pulled the curtains shut to block out the last of the sunset, throwing the study into a mild gloom. "Okay, go."

She didn't always stay beside him when he answered such calls-she didn't have the kind of power to be involved at that political level and, frankly, she didn't want it. Her priority was on doing what was necessary to support Raphael. t.i.tus, however, might be responding to the message she'd sent him in her role as Raphael's consort.

"t.i.tus," Raphael said when the other archangel appeared on-screen.

t.i.tus was dressed like the warrior he was, his breastplate shining gold against skin of jet. Elena knew the armor was unlikely to be actual gold but rather a tougher material coated in a thin layer of the precious metal. Because t.i.tus wasn't a play warrior; he was the real deal. Built along the same lines as Galen, his features were rough-hewn, his presence forceful.

"Raphael." Eyes of impenetrable onyx shifted to Elena, his tone quieter than she would've expected from a man of his size and strength, the resonant tone compelling her attention. "Consort."

"I'm delighted to speak to you," Elena said, thankful for the instructions Jessamy had given her in how to interact with an archangel who was an ally but not yet a friend. The last thing she wanted to do was put her foot in it, when the alliances they made now could help save the world during the war to come. It was a certainty that the Archangel of China was going to rise from her regenerative sleep in a bad, bad mood.

"I thank you for your invitation," t.i.tus said in reply to her words. "I will join you during your celebrations."

Well, c.r.a.p. Elena had extended the invitation sure that t.i.tus wouldn't accept. It had been more along the lines of fostering goodwill. The other archangels she'd invited had already sent their regrets, including Hannah and Elijah, who Elena would've been happy to see-but like Elena and Raphael, the other couple needed to be with their people right now.

As for Favashi and Astaad, both had scheduled private visits after the block party.

Knowing how Neha felt about Raphael, but also aware that to not invite her would be seen as an insult, Elena had sent the Queen of Snakes, of Poisons, a personal invitation. The response had been icily polite, but it had been handwritten by Neha herself, which Elena figured had to be better than dead silence.

Michaela was permanently off any guest list Elena made, as was Lijuan's buddy, Charisemnon.

"I look forward to making your acquaintance in truth," she said to t.i.tus now, dredging up more of Jessamy's lessons. The historian and librarian of the angelic race had the patience of a saint, even when her pupil pretended to collapse and die from the mind-numbing complexity of angelic protocol.

"I, too, will be glad to see you, t.i.tus," Raphael said, his wing sliding over her own. "You have contained the situation with Charisemnon?"

That situation was the reason Elena had expected t.i.tus to stick close to his territory. He shared a land border with Charisemnon and the two archangels had never had a cordial relationship. Their constant back-and-forth had turned into all-out aggression when Charisemnon sided with Lijuan during the hostilities; not only had Charisemnon used his new ability to create disease to attack New York, he'd begun to send disease carriers over the border into t.i.tus's lands.

"I have had confirmed reports that Charisemnon is sick."

"His mind?" Raphael had seen his own parents go mad with age, but Charisemnon was young in immortal terms.

"No. He is physically ill. My spies tell me he is bedridden, his body covered in sores."

"Archangels do not get ill." An immutable fact throughout angelic history.

"It appears Charisemnon is changing the rules." t.i.tus put his hands on his waist, biceps bulging. "I have spoken to my healer and Keir both about the possible cause-they believe he overextended his ability and it turned on him."

Raphael considered that. "If we remove Lijuan from the picture, Charisemnon appeared to have the strongest Cascade-instigated gift."

The other archangel had taken down hundreds of Raphael's angels in a cowardly strike, leaving five dead and many so brutally injured they'd been little more than bleeding torsos. It would take months of excruciating pain before the youngest would recover, the crime of the Falling one Raphael would never forget. Vengeance among immortals was often a long and deadly process, and Raphael had learned the value of patience long ago.

"Yes." t.i.tus's expression held grim pleasure. "The pestilent fool acted too fast, was too arrogant. Now he pays the price."