Chapter 1
Elena watched the ducks peck at each other in the pond in Central
Park and thought about the last time she’d been here. She’d sat on
this very bench, musing on the fact that even the ducks couldn’t be
nonviolent as her mind fought frantically to find a way out of the mess
in which she’d found herself—a mess that had seen her tracking a mad
archangel for another immortal as lethal.
Shimmering white-gold over her vision as she lifted her eyes to the sky, an echo of that fateful day. “Hello, Archangel.”
Raphael folded away his wings, his eyes on the ducks. “Why do you find them so fascinating?”
“I don’t. I just like this spot.” Her own wings uncomfortably
squashed against the seat built for humans and vampires, she rose to her
feet. “Though I think you need to sponsor a new bench over there.” She
pointed to a beautiful spot across the way; it’d be shaded by the
delicate green leaves of a flowering cherry tree in summer, the soft
pink blooms in spring. Right now, with winter’s kiss in the air, the
tree was all bone, stark against the evergreens.
“It will be done,” Raphael said with a cool arrogance that made
her want to drag him back to bed. “You realize you’re capable of
sponsoring many such benches?”
Elena blinked as she always did when she remembered she was
rolling in it. Not in comparison to older immortals, of course, and way
below Raphael’s league, but her personal fortune was more than
respectable when it came to a fledgling immortal. Earned in the hunt
that had broken her back, made her bleed until her throat filled with
the iron dark fluid, and brought Raphael into her life, the money was
currently amassing ridiculous amounts of interest in her Guild account.
“Damn”—she whistled—“I need to start thinking like a rich chick.”
“I will be most amused to watch this transformation.”
Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Just you wait. Before you know it, I’ll be one of the angels who lunch.”
He laughed, her dangerous lover who wore his strength as a second
skin and had a face of such violent masculine beauty that she was
stunned anew each time she realized he belonged to her. Hair of darkest
midnight and eyes of a painful blue found nowhere else on this earth,
Raphael was a man blooded with power—no one would ever mistake him for
anything but what he was: an archangel who had the capacity to snuff out
a life as easily as she might crush an ant.
The wings that arced over his shoulders only deepened the sense
of dangerous temptation. His feathers were white, but for fine
filaments of pure gold that caught the eye and the light. Flawless
wings, but for the astonishing “scar” of golden feathers where she’d
once shot him. A few months back, his primaries, too, had begun to turn
gold, only for the process to continue past yellow-gold and to a
glittering metallic white. Now the sun caught on those primaries as he
laughed, igniting an illusion of white fire.
“I’m afraid,” he said after the laughter faded, “I have some news
that may regretfully turn your attention in another direction.”
Put on guard by his tone, she ignored the people in the distance
whose mouths had dropped open at the sight of Raphael’s amusement, the
Archangel of New York not known for laughter. “What is it?”
“I have two pieces of . . . interesting news.”
Elena’s stomach dropped. “Lijuan?” According to Raphael’s
spymaster, the batshit old archangel was creating reborn again, if only
in small numbers. Lijuan called it giving “life,” but her walking dead
servants were nightmares, a plague upon the world—and the worst thing
was, many of them knew it, their eyes screaming for help even as their
bodies shuffled to follow the commands of their mistress.
Then there were the strange desiccated bodies found near her
stronghold that no one could figure out. The general consensus was that
they were failed attempts at creating reborn, but whether that was good
news or bad news was anyone’s guess. “She’s not—”
Raphael shook his head before she could complete her question,
the black silk of his hair rich and dark. “My mother,” he said, “has
invited us to a ball.”
Elena pulled a blade from one of the butter-soft forearm sheaths
that had been a gift from Raphael. “Excuse me while I stab myself in
the eyes—and disembowel myself while I’m at it.” The last time Elena
had attended an immortal ball, she’d ended up bathing in the blood of
the reborn while Beijing burned around her. And oh yeah, let’s not
forget smashing to the earth after being ripped out of the sky.
“I’m afraid I cannot permit that,” Raphael said, in what she
thought of as his “Archangel” voice, formal and ruthless. “Who would
then keep me amused at the ball? I may otherwise be driven to pluck out
my own eyes and I believe you are quite fond of them.”
“Funny.” Sighing, she leaned her head against the muscled
strength of his arm, his skin bared by the brown fighting leathers that
told her he’d come from a sparring session, likely with Illium. “Why
is Caliane having a ball?”
He spread his wing across her own in a susurration of sound that
was a familiar intimacy. “Her city and people have fully awakened, and
she wishes to formally greet the other powers in the world.” A pause.
“My mother may have been many things, but the one thing she has never
been is impolite; as an Ancient, she is cognizant of her responsibility
to take a part in the ruling of the world, even if it is from a
distance.”
Complex, intelligent, once-insane, Raphael’s mother wasn’t a
woman who could be put easily into any kind of a category. The Ancient
had left her son broken and bloodied on a forsaken field an eon ago,
but she’d also risen perilously early from a centuries-long Sleep to
save the life of that same son. “When’s the ball?”
“In less than two weeks.”
“I’ll make sure my jewels are glittering and my nails done.”
Raphael’s lips curved again as she slid away the knife and held
out her hands to display unpolished nails clipped hunter-short. The
back of her left hand was bruised from a tussle with a recalcitrant
vampire she’d retrieved for the Guild a few hours before, and her
palms, when she flipped over her hands, proved to have a plethora of
calluses.
Even her newly immortal body couldn’t erase those calluses, not
when she worked constantly with weapons. “I don’t think a manicure is
going to cut it.”
“Should you ever touch me with court-softened hands, I will know an imposter walks in your skin.”
Some women might’ve taken his words as an insult; they made Elena
want to initiate a very public, very hot kiss. “So,” she said,
promising herself she’d indulge that particular need as soon as they
were alone, “what’s the other piece of news?”
“Perhaps I should take your weapons first.”
Elena tried to think of what could be worse than attending a ball
with the most powerful, most vicious angels and vampires in the world,
and came up with, “My father wants to have dinner with us?”
“No, it is not Jeffrey.” The suddenly brutal angle of his jawline
made his opinion of her father clear. “Come, we cannot talk of this
where we may be overheard.”
Stepping a little away from her, his wing sliding off her own, he said, “Do you wish to attempt a vertical takeoff?”
Elena thought of the number of witnesses, pitted that fact
against the straining effort it would take for her to get aloft. That
teeth-gritting struggle would betray weakness in a way that would
reflect not only on her, but on Raphael—and an archangel could never be
seen as weak, for the sake of mortals and immortals alike.
In all probability, she’d have made a different choice even a few
months ago, she’d been fighting so hard to retain her sense of self in
the new world into which she’d been thrust. Now she understood far
more about the intricacies of the balance of power in the world,
understood, too, that while Raphael might occasionally frustrate her
with his protectiveness, he had no desire to clip her wings.
“No, not here.” Walking into his arms, she folded back her wings,
and he took them effortlessly into the air, his hold steel around her
waist, his heartbeat strong and steady.
Crashing waves and the salt-laced sea, rain clean and bright,
that was Raphael’s mental scent and it lingered in her every breath,
made her body ache. Always, he made her ache. Shifting slightly in his
hold, she pressed her lips to his throat, felt his pulse speed up.
“Would you dance with me above Manhattan?”
Her breath caught at the sensual murmur, the idea of their bodies
and wings intertwined in the rawly sexual act pure adrenaline in her
blood. “Not yet. I don’t think I’m that brave.” Raphael might possess
the archangelic ability to shield them from all sight, but
she
would still be able to see the city below. “I like dancing with you
above the sea.” Loved feeling the sheer power of him as they plummeted
from lethal heights to hit the water. “Tonight?”
“I am seduced.” Easing his hold above the cloud layer, he claimed
her mouth for a darkly passionate kiss that made her breasts tighten,
her body eager for the wild promise of the night. “Ready?” he asked
when their lips parted, his body hard against her own.
At her nod, he removed his arm from around her waist and she fell
through the gossamer kiss of the clouds . . . to unfold her wings and
circle up on an updraft, the exhilaration of flight in no way lessened
by the fact that she’d had a year to get used to the astonishing wonder
of it.
Is it urgent? she asked.
What we have to discuss?
Not so urgent that we cannot fly.
Looking up, she watched him wing his way higher and higher with
breathtaking ease, until he was a faraway dot in the sky . . . then felt
her heart stop as he dropped, a sleek arrow of white-gold that shot
past her, accelerating until she could see people screaming in the park
below. A second before what would’ve been terminal impact for a mortal,
Raphael spread his wings and shot back up.
You terrified everyone. Her own pulse was in her mouth, her blood thunder in her ears.
Humans need to be terrified every so often. It keeps them from crossing lines that shouldn’t be crossed.
You ever think maybe archangels should be challenged once in a while? she countered.
That it’d take care of the whole arrogance issue?
Anyone may challenge me.
When he executed a turn toward the Hudson, Elena followed, the
river winds riffling through the strands of hair that had escaped her
braid.
How can people challenge you when they’re so afraid?
It didn’t stop you.
Well, he did have her there. But—
I’ve always had a dash of crazy in me.
Flying wing to wing with him, she swept out over the water,
following the river north, before turning to head to their house in the
Angel Enclave. Situated along the cliffs on the opposite side of the
Hudson from Manhattan, it was a magnificent building that offered
sweeping views of the city, but for Elena, it was simply home.
Montgomery has prepared something special for you. Do not break his heart.
Elena grinned at the thought of the butler.
You know Montgomery and I have a mutual love affair.
Coming down on her feet on the still-green grass of the lawn that ended
in a steep drop into the Hudson, she watched Raphael land, his
wingspan incredible.
“A storm,” he murmured, his eyes on the clouds that had begun to boil over Manhattan. “It grew quickly.”
So quickly that she hadn’t noticed anything while in the air.
“It’s not another Ancient waking up, is it?” she asked, the tiny hairs
on her arms standing up at the memory of the last time the city had
suffered inclement weather.
“No,” Raphael said to her relief. “It’d be an extraordinary thing
for two to rise within the span of a year—this is likely nothing but
the first lash of winter. Still, we will watch to make certain. We
cannot forget that the Cascade is in full effect.”
“Yeah, and it’s not exactly a flowers-and-butterflies kind of
thing.” The Cascade, according to everything they’d been able to
discover, was a confluence of time and certain critical events that led
to a surge of power in the Cadre. All of the archangels would grow in
strength, some might be touched with madness, but none would remain the
same. Neither would the world, for the archangels were part of its
very fabric. “Does the second thing you want to discuss have to do with
the Cascade?”
“No.” Those eyes of endless blue met her own. “Michaela has asked permission to remain for an extended period in my territory.”
Elena’s jaw dropped. “Oh,
hell no.” The female archangel
had made it clear she considered Elena something lesser, a bug to be
ground beneath her designer boot. “What makes her think I’d want her in
my city?”
“I do not believe Michaela thought of you at all.” Brutal words
from her archangel, but Elena knew the anger wasn’t directed at her.
“Michaela,” he continued, his tone as cold as a scalpel slicing
across the throat, “would’ve had a better chance of receiving my
assistance had she not insulted my consort in the asking.”
“The fact we’re discussing this means you’re considering her request.”
“She wishes sanctuary because she is with child.”
Shock rooted Elena to the spot. It suddenly made sense, why the
woman many considered the most beautiful in the world hadn’t been
spotted in the media for at least two months, when she’d always loved
that kind of attention. “What about the father of her child?” she asked
at last. “I assume it’s Dahariel?” At Raphael’s nod, she said, “He’s a
powerful angel in his own right, second to an archangel.”
“Michaela might’ve slept with Dahariel, but she doesn’t trust him not to stab her in the back while she is vulnerable.”
Elena couldn’t imagine such a situation. She knew Raphael would
fight to the death to protect her if and when they decided to try for a
child. “Will she be? Vulnerable?” Michaela wasn’t an archangel simply
in name—she had the blinding power to go with it.
“Yes.” Raphael’s eyes followed a squadron of angels coming in to
land at the Tower, their bodies angled to slice through the rising
wind. “Pregnancy can be difficult for archangels. Michaela’s power will
remain, but her hold on it may become erratic. It is why a consort is
so necessary during this time.”
“She can’t have mine,” Elena said, well aware Michaela was
cunning enough to use her condition to further her aim of gaining
Raphael for a lover. “Won’t Dahariel consider it an insult if she
chooses your protection?”
“No. He isn’t yet her consort.”
Much as she disliked Michaela, Elena couldn’t help but think of
the anguish she’d once witnessed on the other woman’s face, the
unutterable pain of a mother who’d lost a child. “We can’t say no, can
we?”
Raphael cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone.
“Your heart is too soft, Guild Hunter. I can and will say no if that is
needed.” His eyes glowed incandescent, the flames lightning blue. “I
have not forgotten that she has attempted to hurt you more than once.”
Instinct urged Elena to push him to decide exactly that; nothing
good could come of having Michaela nearby. However, this wasn’t only
about the female archangel and her machinations, but about the innocent
she carried in her womb. “I would never forgive myself if we said no
and then she lost the child in an attack.”
“Were the situations reversed, you know she would leave you in the streets to starve.”
“I’m not Michaela.” It was a line in the sand, one she would not cross.
“No, you’re far more than she will ever be.” He dropped his hand
with a single hard kiss, his eyes returning to the gathering storm.
“I’ll consider her request—and I’ll consider the rules should I grant
it.”
“I definitely don’t want her in the house next door.” There was a
difference between showing compassion for a vulnerable woman, and
stupidity. “If—”
Something soft slammed to the ground in front of them.
Startled, Elena looked down to see a bloodied pigeon. “Poor
thing.” From what she could see when she crouched down, its neck had
snapped in a sudden, violent death. “It must’ve suffered damage to its
wings in the air, been unable to stay aloft.”
“I do not think it is that simple,” Raphael said, as she was
thinking they should bury the dead bird in the woods that bordered the
house on either side.
Looking up, she followed Raphael’s gaze to see hundreds of tiny
splashes in the Hudson, the air above dark with a swirling cloud that
had become fat and black. Another bird landed on the very edge of the
cliff, its wing lifting limply before it slipped off the rocks and into
the water.
“This storm,” Raphael said softly on the heels of a third bird
hitting the ground at Elena’s feet, its tiny body broken, feathers
matted a dull red from the crushing impact, “is not so ordinary after
all.”
