Archangel's Kiss

26

The next six weeks passed in a fury of weapons and flight training—with Raphael when he was in the Refuge, and with Galen when Raphael had to return to the Tower. Her spare time, she spent inhaling as much information as she possibly could, and visiting Sam. To her delight, the boy was healing far faster than anyone had predicted. Noel, too, was well on the way to recovery.

There was no more overt violence at the Refuge . . . except for the bloodstained Guild daggers that kept showing up in places she frequented. The blood proved to be Noel’s, so there could be no mistake about the origin of the threat. Unfortunately, the daggers had all been devoid of vampiric scents. And Elena’s angel-tracking ability continued to be wildly erratic.

Frustrated at the lack of a solid lead—but determined to ensure she’d be no easy target—Elena had just dropped off another dagger at the forensic center one cool morning when she came face-to-face with Neha’s daughter.

“Namaste.” The greeting came from the mouth of an enchantingly beautiful woman with the sloe-eyed gaze of a born sybarite . . . if one didn’t see the calculating intelligence behind it.

Elena kept her response calm, polite. So far, nothing pointed to Anoushka as being the angel they were looking for, and as Neha’s daughter, she was a power—one Elena didn’t need to piss off without reason. “Namaste.”

Anoushka looked her up and down, making no effort to hide her appraisal. “I was curious about you.” It was an almost girlish statement as she walked forward, graceful in a white sari embroidered in blush pink and powder blue. “So human you look, though you wear wings,” she murmured. “Your skin must show every bruise, every wound.” Such a casual comment. Such a quiet threat.

Elena answered with the truth. “Your skin is flawless.”

A blink, as if she’d surprised the other angel. Then Anoushka inclined her head by the merest fraction. “I don’t think I’ve heard a compliment from another female angel for at least a hundred years.” A smile that should have been charming, and yet . . . “Will you walk with me?”

“I’m afraid I’m headed to training.” She glimpsed Galen out of the corner of her eye, hoped he’d keep his distance. Right now, Anoushka did appear merely inquisitive. Any sign of aggression and things might get ugly.

“Of course.” Anoushka waved her hand. “It must worry Raphael to have a mate who is so very weak.”

Having the other angel at her back felt like beetles crawling over her skin. She was almost glad to fall into step beside Galen—right now, trying to protect herself from a weapons expert sounded like a far better bet than fencing with an angel who might be a true cobra. According to the rumors she’d heard, Anoushka had grown up drinking poison with her mother’s milk.

A shiver skated across her body, and she was more than ready to throw herself into the gruelingly physical training. However, another one of Neha’s creations—Venom—interrupted the hand-to-hand combat session midway. The vampire had on his ubiquitous shades, his body clothed in a black on black suit. But, for once, his expression held no hint of mockery. “Come. Sara is waiting for you on the phone.”

She was already walking at a fast clip beside him. “Has something happened to Zoe?” Fear for her goddaughter caught her by the throat.

“You should speak to her directly.”

Her wings brushed the steps as she walked up to Raphael’s office. She pulled them up instinctively, the action second nature now—thanks to having been put on her ass by Galen more than once. He would give no quarter. Any mistake and she went down. She appreciated it—because Lijuan’s reborn sure as hell wouldn’t have mercy on her if the oldest of the archangels decided to set her pets on her guests.

Leading Elena to the corridor outside the office, Venom took a sentinel position by the door. She knew without asking that Illium was around somewhere—there were never less than two of the Seven with her when Raphael was away from the Refuge. It irritated her, more than irritated her. But facts were facts. She’d regained her strength, honed her skills, but she was no archangel, and the dagger threats aside, Michaela was still in the Refuge. Whatever softness the female archangel had in her heart for the young, she had none for Elena.

The last time Elena had spoken to Ransom, he’d told her the vampires were now laying bets on her living long enough to even attend Lijuan’s ball, much less survive it.

“You know how your head was wanted on a silver platter? Well, the reward’s been tripled for anyone who brings Michaela not only your head, but both your hands as well.”

Grabbing the phone as soon as she reached the office, she said, “Sara?”

“Ellie.” Sara’s voice was strangely accented—a mix of worry and anger. “I’ve got your father waiting on another line.”

Her hand tightened on the phone. Jeffrey Deveraux had pretty much called her a whore at their last meeting. “What does he want?”

“Something’s happened.” A pause. “I could tell you, but this time, I think he has the right.”

Frowning, Elena nodded though Sara couldn’t see her. “Transfer the call. Let’s get it over with.” She wouldn’t let him hurt her, she vowed. The man who’d fought for her right to see her sisters, to say good-bye, was long gone, and she was through with being wounded by the bastard who’d taken his place.

Sara didn’t waste any time. A hiss of air and then silence. “Yes?” Elena said, unable to call him father.

“You need to get back to New York. This is connected to your work.” The last word was full of the same distaste that had flavored any mention of her skills as a hunter-born by her father as long as she could remember.

And now he thought her a vampire. It was a wonder he was deigning to speak to her at all. Her hand tightened impossibly further. “What?”

A pause that hummed with things long unsaid. “Your mother’s grave was violated last night.”

Lijuan. An icy anger uncurled in Elena’s gut. “Did they take her?”

“No.” A curt word. “The perpetrator was disturbed in the process by a vampire who appears to belong to Raphael.”

Her knees threatened to crumple as relief tumbled through her. Of course Raphael had put guards on her family’s graves after the gift Lijuan had sent her. Bracing herself against the desk, she fought to keep her tone even. “Maybe it’s time you followed Mama’s wishes to have her body cremated and her ashes scattered on the winds.”

“So I can fly, chérie.”

That had been Marguerite’s response when Elena had questioned her after overhearing her talking to Jeffrey about what she’d want him to do if she died before him.

“There’ll be no need for it if you can keep your friends away from her.” Each word was hard, designed to cut, to bruise.

Flinching, she said, “There’s every need—but then, you’ve never known how to keep promises.” She hung up before he could say anything else, her hand trembling as she lifted it to her mouth.

The door opened behind her the next instant, and she knew without turning that Raphael had come home for her. “They didn’t touch her?”

“They didn’t even get within touching distance of the headstone.” Strong hands on her shoulders, pulling her back against a warm wall of a chest.

“My father made it sound like they’d dug her up.” She closed her hands over his. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I heard in transit.” A kiss pressed to her cheek. “I wanted to tell you in person—I didn’t expect that Jeffrey would have the resources to find out so quickly.”

“My father knows everyone there is to know.” Both legal and not, though he’d slap her for implying the latter. “The one who tried to get to my mother’s grave. Were your men able to catch him?”

“Yes.” A quiet acknowledgment that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “He was reborn.”

She sucked in a breath. “He had enough of a mind to carry out the orders on his own?”

“It appears he was very newly reborn.” Raphael slid his hands down her arms, then off, as he walked to open the balcony doors. “They do not speak, but Dmitri swears there was a plea for mercy in his eyes when he was caught.”

“He wanted to live?”

“No.” He held out a hand.

She took it and he led her out into the cool breeze of the balcony. They stood side by side, their wings touching in an intimacy she’d allow no one else. “Why didn’t he run, commit suicide when he had the chance?”

“Lijuan has control over her puppets. I don’t believe she has enough control to manipulate them over that distance, however, which makes me think she had someone else there whom Dmitri’s men didn’t find.”

“Someone the reborn thought he had to follow.” She blew out a breath, wondering what kind of an evil could scare the dead. “What did Dmitri do to him?”

“Gave him what he wanted.”

Elena’s hand clenched on the railing. “Good.” She’d want that same mercy if she was ever turned into the horror of one of Lijuan’s reawakened dead.

“Her games,” Raphael said, “they’re escalating. The act against your mother’s grave came on my territory, violating our implicit agreement not to enter each other’s lands without permission.”

“Plausible deniability. She can always say she knew nothing about the actions of her underlings.”

“We would all know it for a lie, but yes, she’s far enough removed from the act to do so credibly.” Raphael’s wings spread, one sliding over her back in a quiet caress. “It’s time for us to make our own move.”

She glanced at him, saw the pitiless angle of his jaw, remembered that this was the archangel who’d executed another. “You’ve already made it.”

His lips curved in a smile no mortal would ever want to see. “Lijuan shows signs of believing that her status as the oldest among us makes her untouchable.”

“Could you kill her if necessary?”

“I’m not sure Lijuan can truly die.” He said the terrifying words with quiet power. “It’s possible she’s lived so long, she’s become the truest of immortals, straddling the line between life and death.”

“Except,” Elena said, feeling a ghost walk across her grave, “it looks like she prefers the dead over the living.”

“Yes.”