Archangel's Heart (36 page)

The healer didn't respond, but she could feel him staring at her again. “Did you ever try to get your scars excised?” she asked. “Adult angels have an incredible healing ability from what I've seen.”

Laric's hand moved slowly across the page.
The scars are impossible to cut through.

Elena tried to process what he was telling her, considered the amount of energy that would've been released at the violent death of an archangel. There'd been no similar blowback when Raphael executed Uram, but those two had extracted a hell of a lot of power from their environment, then expended it during their fight, Manhattan a war zone. Badly damaged high-rises and a burned-out electrical network had only been the start.

And in comparison to Caliane's and Nadiel's battle, Raphael's and Uram's fight had been between young “pups,” as Alexander was wont to say.

Nadiel had been younger than Caliane, but not
young
. The amounts of energy involved . . . It must've seared the scars so deep into Laric's body that they went to the bone itself.
Raphael, do you think you could try your ability to heal on Laric once you're back from China?
Not before. Not when they had no idea of what he might face there.

I've been considering how best to utilize it.

Elena met those eyes of endless blue, of an archangel whose heart was no longer in any danger of turning cruel.

He spoke again, the cool winds of him a caress across her senses.
We will not abandon him, Elena. Aodhan says as you did—that Laric is dying slowly here.
A dangerous pause.
The boy is afraid of being shoved out for interrupting the “serenity” of this place with his scars, so he rarely ventures out now.

That idea didn't just magically appear in his head.
It had been planted there by men who searched for luminescence in
unkindness. “You've done an amazing job with Ibrahim,” she said aloud to Laric and it wasn't just talk—Ibrahim was breathing easier, his color better. “Especially since you've only had a little training.”

Laric wrote again on the notepad.
The damage is not so bad. He will heal.
He seemed to accurately read her shock at that description of Ibrahim's injuries, because he added,
No signs of weapons being used. Nothing to cause damage deep on the inside.

The hairs stood up on Elena's arms.

T
aking the notepad, she walked over to show it to Aodhan and Raphael. “Fists and kicks, that skews personal to me.”

“Someone in a rage.” Aodhan's voice was quiet but his shattered eyes were shards of ice. “As the sire said, he had to have been kicked after he was down; fists alone wouldn't have collapsed one side of his body or pulverized his arm.”

A rustle, Laric coming to hover awkwardly nearby.

When Elena waved him closer, he came. It was only once he was part of the circle that his hands began to move. Aodhan watched, his face increasingly grim. “He says he's certain it wasn't undirected rage—the injuries are too closely grouped for that. One side of Ibrahim's body was targeted. Particularly his arm.”

Elena stared at the ground with a scowl, trying to focus her thoughts. “Why that arm?” She raised her head. “I mean, I could understand targeting both arms if it was about him giving us the map, or if it was punishment because he touched something out of bounds, but one arm?”

“Not something.” Firelight flickered on the top arch of Raphael's wings, and then those wings were white flame.

She heard Laric suck in a breath, stagger back a step, but
when the fire stayed confined to Raphael's wings, he came back in a show of unexpected courage.

“You touched Ibrahim on that arm.”

She stared at Raphael, his words vibrating inside her skull. “That doesn't make sense. I belong to you. Everyone knows that.”

His smile was coolly satisfied, his wings flickering back to normal as quickly as they'd switched to flame.

Making a face at him, she said, “And you belong to me, Archangel.” She gave him a smug look of her own.

Laughing, he put a hand over his heart. “I would wear your brand on my skin, Elena-mine. Even if it meant searing it anew each day when I woke.”

“Ahem.” Elena pointed to the wing that bore the bullet scar. “You already wear my mark, Archangel.”

He unfolded his wing, smiled in open satisfaction. “So I do.”

Laric had been turning his head back and forth as they spoke.

Elena could all but feel his flabbergasted surprise at the conversation. Apparently, everyone expected archangels and their consorts to walk around being otherworldly and powerful, not act like the lovers they were. Though, at least with Elena, there was an expectation that she was apt to be a little odd, since she'd once been a mortal.

It was Hannah who held the capacity to surprise the heck out of everyone: Elijah's consort was nowhere near as flawlessly ladylike as even Elena had once believed. If she'd really thought about it, she'd have realized the truth long before she and Hannah became friends. No artist ever walked in a straight line. And no warrior as powerful and as intelligent as Elijah would so deeply adore a woman who was a graceful ornament.

“Regardless of the fact you are mine,” Raphael said, folding back his wing, “it is too much of a coincidence that Ibrahim was beaten so badly within hours of interacting with you in a way that, to a jealous eye, would've been unacceptable.”

“If you're right, then they must hate you.” Her knife was in her hand between one breath and the next, the hilt a familiar hardness. “Whoever it is must want to annihilate you.” She bared her teeth. “Good thing you're an archangel.”

Raphael's responding smile was as lethal. “Yes. As I do not believe this is one of the Cadre, I am in no real danger.”

Glad her lover was such a tough and dangerous opponent, Elena put both hands on her hips. “I agree—I don't think anyone in the Cadre is carrying a secret torch for me,” she said dryly. “Which leaves one of the guards or escorts or the Luminata. I know who I'd bet on.”

A sudden thought had her focusing on Laric. “Did you ever see a woman here who looked like me? It would've been decades ago. She had hair like mine, skin a little darker.”

Instead of moving his hands to answer in the silent tongue, he took the notepad and wrote out his answer.
No. But I have heard rumors of a woman with moonlight hair who threatened Gian's luminescence with her seduction.

Elena hissed out a breath. “Everything I've learned so far says this woman loved her husband, was true to him. She wasn't having an affair with anyone, much less Gian.”

Elena.

She met Raphael's eyes, forced herself to breathe.
She loved her husband, Raphael. Like he was her stars and her moon. And she loved her child enough to run to protect her.

People make mistakes.
He held her gaze.
I'm not saying she betrayed her mate, but she was involved with Gian in some way. We must not dismiss the possibility out of hand
. Aloud, he said, “Everything points to Gian.”

Elena nodded. “There's a chance it's a loyal flunky, but my money is on Gian.” Those eyes that watched her, the lies he'd told, the
G
in the book of bad love poetry Hannah had found. “Can we move on him?”

“I can kill him now,” Raphael said flatly, his eyes metallic in their coldness.

“And it'd cause all kinds of political issues.” Elena put her hand on his forearm. “No, we get evidence no one can dispute, then we confront Gian.”
You don't need more problems with war hanging on the horizon.

Laric was writing again, held out the notepad a moment later.

“Well fuck,” Elena muttered, turning the notepad to Raphael and then Aodhan. On it was written:
Gian's closest
ally in Lumia is a tall and thin man named Gervais. Like a shadow, he does what Gian does.

“Not the lover but the man who coveted what the lover had?” Raphael's eyes remained cold. “Possible.”

“Whether it is Gian or Gervais,” Aodhan said, “a man who would beat someone so badly for the ‘crime' of having Elena touch him, this to me speaks of obsession.”

“Transference?” Elena braced her hands on her hips. “The Luminata was obsessed with my probable grandmother and now he's transferred that obsession to me?”

Aodhan nodded.

Laric wrote something on his notepad, held it out with a hesitant hand. When Raphael rather than Elena took it, his hand trembled. The kid was clearly intimidated by standing this close to an archangel. Just like Elena had once been—but she knew this man now, saw Raphael, not the Archangel of New York.

“This is no surprise after what we learned in the town,” Raphael said, turning the notepad toward Elena.

The Luminata vow celibacy when they come to Lumia as initiates, but I think they do not all hold to that vow. I have seen mortals flown in late at night.

Elena wondered if those mortals came here by choice, was forced to admit the vast majority likely did—angel groupies were a serious thing. “I guess, technically, I'm your number one groupie,” she said to her archangel.

Raphael raised an eyebrow, in pure Archangel of New York mode. “I should hope that to be the case.”

An unexpected laugh built in her, faded all too soon. “Groupies or not, I can't forget the fear in the town, the way Majda was scared of being taken, what Riad's great-grandfather said about the Luminata's interest in ‘the prettiest women and the most beautiful men,'” she murmured. “Clearly, they're not just scooping up the groupies. But why would angels need to coerce mortals when so many throw themselves at angels?”

Married or unmarried, single or in a relationship, it didn't much matter. Angels apparently didn't count when it came to infidelity—she'd heard that gem from a married hunter she'd met, a man who'd lusted after angels. This had been before
Elena herself had become an angel and consort to one, but even then, she'd disagreed on a gut-deep level.

Fidelity was fidelity in her book. The end.

“For some,” Aodhan said quietly, “it isn't about sex at all. It's about power.”

His words made far too much sense given what they knew of the Luminata. “Taking and abusing and killing people to keep the town in line? Or just because they can? Yes, that fits with how the Luminata seem to operate.”

“There is also the fact that a particular mortal who catches an angel's eye may not wish to play the game,” Raphael said, a chill in his tone. “We both know a once-mortal who was coveted by an angel who would not take no for an answer.”

Dmitri.

Elena sucked in a breath. She didn't know all the details, but she knew that Dmitri had been made a vampire by force by that same angel. “Yes.” The word came out gritty, hard. “That means—”

“The woman with moonlight hair may well have been someone who said no,” Raphael completed.

Red across her vision, Elena said, “Has enough time passed?” She wanted proof, wanted whoever was involved in terrorizing the town—likely the same people who'd made her mother an orphan—brought down.

“No. A little longer.”

*   *   *

I
t was an hour later that Elena and Raphael exited their suite, the hallways of Lumia lit more softly than usual during this time of contemplation. They left Aodhan watching over Laric and Ibrahim, not trusting the Luminata to keep their distance should Laric be alone with the injured angel. From the careful way Laric had continued to monitor Ibrahim, Elena had the feeling the healer would fight to protect him—but he was small and weak, would only end up brutalized.

Aodhan had protested their going out alone, but he'd clearly been torn—he understood that Laric and Ibrahim were far more vulnerable than Elena and Raphael as a unit. In the end it hadn't been a long disagreement and he'd taken up a
guard position outside the room, making it clear the two angels within were under Raphael's protection.

As for anyone—even several anyones—who tried to take on Aodhan, good luck to them. Elena had seen him in battle. Not only was he a beautiful demon with a sword, but he had that violent power in his veins that he could use to decimate parts of Lumia itself if he so wanted.

“You are smiling your lethal hunter angel smile.”

Snorting out a laugh in surprise as they headed toward their ultimate destination, she punched Raphael lightly on the arm. “That was a good one.” It made her grin when he continued to look icily archangelic on the surface. “I was thinking about how dangerous Aodhan is.”

Raphael broke out his own scary smile. “Yes. No one but an archangel will get through him—and the majority of the Cadre is uninterested in this ‘domestic drama.'”

“Neha?” They turned into a part of Lumia that faced outward.

A nod. “She returned to her suite when we got nowhere with our questions.”

Lightning flashed in searing bursts beyond the windows and thunder reverberated through the air, but the hallways of Lumia were once more eerily empty. “When the Luminata retreat for contemplation, they really retreat.”

“This way, Elena.” He tugged her right when she would've gone left.

“Sorry, woolgathering.”

“Your thoughts are on what lies beyond that hidden door.”

Her skin pebbled, chilled. “Bodies,” she forced herself to say. “I think we'll find bodies there. Men and women who said no and who were never seen again. Plus their spouses, lovers, fathers, or anyone else who dared get in the way of the angels.” Exactly what had happened to Majda's husband.

Raphael's response was arctic. “If that is so, know that the punishment will be a final one.”

“Not all immortals think us mortals matter in any way, you said that yourself.” Because she was still mortal in her heart, would always be a mortal in her heart.

Raphael's hand closed over her chilled one. “Enough do,” he told her. “Elijah, Titus, even Neha, will agree with my
judgment should we prove abuse. Astaad has a more old-world view of mortals and may abstain from a vote, but I do not think he will speak against any measure I propose. Michaela is apt to speak for it.”

She jerked up her head in disbelief.

“She may be many things, Elena,” Raphael murmured, “but she is also a woman. Sexual violence against a woman or child in her territory is punishable by death—that is the only possible punishment. It is said her territory is the safest place to be a woman or child alone even in the very darkest corners of a city.”

“Jesus, Raphael, I can't believe you're telling me something that makes me want to
like
Michaela.”

“Do not worry,
hbeebti
, the urge will pass.”

“I sure hope so.” Feeling better now she knew Raphael wouldn't have to take a stand against the rest of the Cadre to bury these bastards, she realized they could no longer see the lightning, the thunder muted to an ominous rumble.

Not a surprise since they were heading deeper into Lumia, toward the Gallery. But as per Laric's information, they would take a hallway that split away from the main one to the Gallery. Before that, however, they passed the wall which had borne the painting of Nadiel. Whatever Tasha had said to the Luminata, the painting hadn't simply been covered over; it was gone, literally cut out of the wall.

In its place sat a hastily constructed mosaic.

“Was it there?”

She nodded at Raphael's flat question. “Don't try to track it down,” she said, shooting him a glare as his wings began to glow. “You don't need to see it.”

A pause, his jaw tight, before he inclined his head. “Once was enough.”

And she knew he wasn't talking about the painting but the real event. Sliding her wing over his, she said, “Hey, don't go all Scary Raphael on me.”

“Scary Raphael?” His voice held an immortal power that had awakened the Legion, the mark on his temple pulsing with wildfire and his wings continuing to glow.

“Ice and danger and scariness.”

The ice began to thaw. “Your affection overwhelms me,
hbeebti
.”

Chest no longer so tight, she winked. “You can call me Scary Elena. I'd like it.”