Archangel's Heart (40 page)

Following Raphael as he hauled Gian up the passageway by the neck, the Luminata's feet and wings dragging on the floor, she asked him to wait when they reached the suite where the women had been kept. She entered with care lest another Luminata had somehow managed to come in, quickly cleared the area, then began to search the wardrobes, hoping some of the Luminata had forgotten clothing.

There was an edge to her grandfather's stance that told her he was a man of quiet pride. She would not take that from him, would not let the Luminata gawk at him when they entered the main part of Lumia.

She found nothing suitable in what had been Josette's room, but when she checked the room that wasn't in use, it was to discover a stack of civilian male clothing. She tried not to think about the fact that some of these clothes could well have belonged to young males who'd been taken and who'd never gone home again. “I'll get vengeance for you,” she whispered.

Stepping out, she found Raphael had sent her grandparents into the plush waiting area. Elena kept her eyes resolutely on her grandmother as she said, “I found male clothing in there.”

Majda and Jean-Baptiste slipped into the room without further discussion, their linked hands never breaking.

Dropping Gian in one corner after coming into the suite, Raphael brushed away strands of hair stuck to her cheek from perspiration she hadn't even felt in the heat of the moment. “So,
hbeebti
.”

“Yeah.” Rubbing her cheek against his palm when he spread it open on her skin, she blew out a breath. “I'm the grandchild of a vampire.”

“Two vampires.”

She bit down on her lower lip, shook her head. “Majda wasn't a vampire when she had my mother.” Riad's great-
grandparents had made it clear Jean-Baptiste couldn't find an angel who'd fast-track her application. “I have a feeling she was Made after she left France.” As for the how of the latter, and where the bus crash fit in, she'd get the details from her grandmother later.

Raphael considered it, sliding his hand down her arm. When she caught his hand, he smiled, linked his fingers with hers. “You may be right.” A dangerously calm glance over at where Gian whimpered and gasped, his eyes bugging out of his head as he continued to dig at his throat. “
Quiet.
”

Gian flung his fist at Raphael, but no green-gold energy came from it.

“You have lost half your volume of blood and your body is focusing on healing your throat,” Raphael told the other angel in a voice so cold it raised every tiny hair on Elena's body. “You have no resources to muster an attack. Do not attempt it again or I'll forget about a trial in front of the Cadre and turn you to dust where you crawl.”

His eyes were deep Prussian blue when he returned his attention to Elena, the otherness of him a heavy presence in the room.
You look a little terrified, Elena-mine.

In a good way.
She wove her fingers even tighter with his, banishing the chill of violent power and long immortality with the love that lived in her, in him, between them.
No matter how scary you get, Archangel, I always want to dance with you.

Majda and Jean-Baptiste returned from the room right then. To Elena's surprise, both had changed. Her grandfather wore black pants and a simple white shirt that suited his blunt handsomeness. He didn't have the prettiness developed by some vampires. No, he was like Dmitri—he'd retained a harsh edge to his features that said he was a dangerous man, but vampirism had given him unblemished white skin that needed the kiss of the sun, and hair that gleamed with silken health.

As for Majda . . .

Gone was her grandmother's gown, in its place a pair of brown pants that she'd rolled up at the bottom and tied tightly around her waist using a belt Elena remembered seeing in the wardrobe. On top, she wore a woman's shirt, so that must've also been in the wardrobe.

And Elena knew without asking that the gown had been forced on Majda by Gian.

Majda's lips suddenly curved, her eyes bright.

Following the line of her gaze, Elena realized her grandmother had seen Raphael and Elena's linked hands. “Let's go get rid of the garbage,” Elena said softly.

A
s Elena slipped out her crossbow in readiness for any possible threats, Raphael grabbed Gian once again, his grip so powerful that Gian couldn't have escaped it even at full strength. When Elena heard angry murmuring behind her just after they reached the paving area onto which she'd stepped with a quiet “Forgive me,” she looked back over her shoulder and shook her head at her grandparents. “The angels have
far
more brutal methods of punishment than you could ever imagine.”

“But will they punish one of their own when the victims are no one important?” A deep voice, deeper than it had been before, Jean-Baptiste clearly still healing in the wake of the infusion of archangelic blood.

Raphael was the one who answered. “You are family,” he said, his wings suddenly afire and cuttingly bright in the gloom of the shaft. “It does not matter what anyone else in the Cadre says or believes, I have the right to punish those who seek to harm my family.”

Both Majda and Jean-Baptiste had flinched at the blaze of Raphael's power, but straightened almost immediately and—after a glance at one another—nodded at Raphael. And they held his gaze as they did so. Holding him to account.

It appears stubborn courage runs in the family line.

You better believe it, Archangel.
Elena looked at the pathetic form of Gian. “Fly him up first. I'll come with you and keep an eye on him while you bring up Majda and Jean-Baptiste.” She didn't want them up there alone and no way was she going to leave Gian alone for even a second.

Snakes had a habit of slithering away.

One hand still gripping Gian, Raphael circled her waist with his other arm and they lifted off. As she looked down, she saw her grandparents heads tilt back, their eyes glowing in the light coming off Raphael's wings and their bodies touching. Then Raphael was releasing her and she was winging her way up to the platform at the top of the shaft.

Raphael waited until she caught up and got on the platform before he threw Gian with enough force that the Luminata ended up at the bottom of the staircase. He dropped without saying a word, the two of them in perfect sync.

Crossbow lifted and aimed at Gian's forehead, Elena didn't take her eye off the staircase or off Gian's mewling form. And when the angel began to crawl forward, she didn't ask what the fuck he was doing. She just shot a crossbow bolt half an inch from the front of his face. “The next one goes through your skull.” It wouldn't kill him. He was too old. But it'd hurt like a bitch and put him out for a while.

Pale green eyes looked at her with soft confusion in their depths, as if he couldn't understand why she was so angry at him. Thank God Raphael was the archangel who'd make the call about his punishment—because the bastard knew how to use words, how to use charm, how to twist the world so it was his.

A rush of air behind her, then Majda's voice. “Thank you,” she said, the tone holding a tremor that wasn't of fear. “I never thought I would one day fly out of that hellhole.”

Her husband chuckled. “Such stories we will have to tell, my love.”

It made Elena's heart melt, that even after decades in hell, they spoke to one another that way, touched one another with care.
Will you call me Elena-mine when we've been together two thousand years and you're annoyed by the size of my knife collection?

The firelight of Raphael's wings brushed hers as he passed.
First, as I would be responsible for having given you the majority of those knives, how could I be annoyed? And second, I will always call you Elena-mine.
Vivid blue eyes holding her own gaze even as he leaned down to grab Gian.
Nothing in this world or the next can change who you are to me.

He went up the steps first, with Majda and Jean-Baptiste following, Elena in the rear just in case one of those doors to the Gallery hadn't been painted or tiled over from the other side, and was still in use. No way was she allowing anyone to ambush them now.

But the shaft remained silent and they exited into the hallway to find it empty.

Elena was a little disappointed. She'd been ready to shoot bolts into the lying mouths of the Luminata, both the pious bastards who treated mortals as commodities and the ones who'd been aware of what was going on in the deepest recesses of Lumia, yet had done nothing to stop it.

“I'll show them luminescence,” she muttered as she stalked down the hallway at Raphael's side, her crossbow held to her left but cocked and ready to fire.

They made no attempt to conceal their presence and the first Luminata they met in the hallway gasped and ran toward them. “Gian!”

“
Silence
.” Power honed to a lethal blade, Raphael's voice commanded absolute obedience. The Luminata, a small man with hair of darkest brown and huge, dark eyes, bowed his head, but Elena had caught the secondary layer of shock in his gaze.

These assholes really weren't used to being given orders by anyone, not even the Cadre.

“Gather your brothers,” Raphael said, the words an archangelic decree. “All must be in the Atrium by the time the Cadre gathers or their lives are forfeit.
Go.
”

The now white-faced Luminata ran.

Raphael gave the same order to others, until any “brother” they passed was either running to tell others or hurrying in the direction of the Atrium. Turning to Elena, her archangel spoke but he'd stolen all her breath, her blood such a loud roar in her ears that she couldn't hear him. His eyes were liquid blue
flame, the Legion mark on his temple sparking with wildfire, his wings still rippling white flame.

And she knew. “The Cascade changes have rooted.” It came out a whisper, terror clutching at her heart—because this being, the one who looked back at her, he was
other
in ways her Raphael wasn't. As if he was growing into a plane of existence where she could not follow.

His responding shrug cut through the sudden fear, it was so natural. “We will test it later. For now, we need Ibrahim in the Atrium. I have told Aodhan and Laric to bring him there. Xander and Valerius will assist.”

“How did they know?”

“Xander came to ask you if you would play a blade game with him, stayed when he realized what was happening.” A faint smile. “It appears the boy is ever more in love with your skill with sharp objects.”

“Figures. Men only ever want me for my weapons.”

Raphael's laughter caused the already shocked Luminata around them to stare in disbelief, but when Elena checked behind them to make sure her grandparents were following—
yes, still weird to think that
—she found them both smiling.

It was Majda who said, “Jean-Baptiste has a predilection for knives as well.” A soft voice, almost breathy in its husky sexiness, but it was clearly not an affectation, simply the way her vocal cords produced sound. “He had quite a collection.”

“My consort has never met a blade she doesn't love.” Raphael's contribution had Majda's and Jean-Baptiste's smiles growing even wider.

“Not true,” Elena said. “No rusty blades—except, of course, when I want to carve out the eyes of vicious monsters.” She locked gazes with Gian, who was already looking better than he had in the torture chamber he'd created.

Bastard was strong.

And this time, he wasn't quick enough to hide his true self: hate foamed in his eyes, though those eyes weren't on Elena but on Jean-Baptiste.

Elena heard movement behind her, followed by a sharp word in a feminine voice, the language the same one she'd heard in the town. Her grandfather held his peace, but she could feel his simmering rage.

The same lived in her.

She carried the crossbow openly in one hand when they walked into the Atrium. It was full of Luminata, all in those hideous robes that were less about conformity for the sake of luminescence and more about hiding evil. At least the bastards weren't arrogant enough to keep up their hoods. Fear twisted too many of their exposed faces, the kind of fear that spoke of guilt, but there were as many faces that held only confusion.

It confirmed Elena's supposition that the ugliness had been perpetrated by a select group. More had known what was happening or had an idea of the wrongness—and were equally guilty in her eyes—but there
were
a few who'd known nothing. People like Ibrahim, who'd innocently come here in a search for enlightenment, and older Luminata who might've been considered too set in their ways to trust with the vicious break in Lumia's traditions.

“Raphael, why do you call us to a meeting?” It was Astaad's voice, an edge to his tone that reminded her that, elegant manners or not, he was an archangel, a power beneath the skin. “All has been decided.” The Archangel of the Pacific Isles stood in the center of the Atrium, in a large area that had been left empty by the gathered Luminata.

Disapproval was an open stain on his features when he spied Gian's broken form. “We do not treat the Luminata with such disrespect.”

*   *   *

R
aphael had come to know his fellow archangel far better since Elena became friends with Mele. So he knew the most important thing of which Astaad needed to be aware.
Do you believe in forcing women to be your concubines, Astaad?

A look of pure distaste in Astaad's dark eyes.
Where is the pleasure in force?
His gaze landed on Gian again, flicked to Majda, then, with a startled jerk, to Elena. Comprehension sparked.
I see.

The other man didn't interfere when Raphael threw Gian into the center of the circle. Fresh blood sputtered from his wound to mark the polished stone of the floor. As the leader of the Luminata struggled to speak, clutching at his throat in a futile attempt to remove the blade star, the two archangels
stood in a silence that had the gathered Luminata going dead silent as well.

The next to arrive was Michaela. “Really, Raphael, if you wanted to see me, you just had to knock on my door,” was her opening salvo, her voice a sensual huskiness. “And are you now building a harem of odd, white-haired women?”

“I will explain,” he said, in no mood for games. “The others will be here soon.”

Michaela sauntered over to stand next to Astaad, her eyes on Gian. “There appears to be something stuck in his throat,” she said conversationally. “Perhaps I should slit it to give him relief.”

As the audience flinched, Elena held out a large knife, hilt first.

It might've been the first known occasion where Michaela and Elena had been in agreement.

Taking the blade with a mocking smile, Michaela bent, wrenched back Gian's head with a grip in his hair, and did exactly what she'd said: she slit the man's throat. Choking and with blood bubbling out in a dark red pulse, Gian clawed at the wound while Michaela wiped the blade on his clothing, then threw the blade back at Elena with archangelic speed.

Raphael was just far enough from his consort that he couldn't intercept it, knew it was going to embed itself in Elena's face—because Michaela was far better with knives than most people realized. Then Elena's hand was in the air, gripping the blade by the hilt as the sharp tip hovered a centimeter from her eye.

Michaela's wasn't the only face that reflected stunned surprise.

The female archangel, who kept her territory under control by engendering a careful mix of bone-chilling fear and respect at her icy competence, wiped the expression off her face within a split second but Raphael had spotted it. As he'd spotted Astaad's responsive jerk toward Elena, as if to attempt to intercept the knife himself.

Raphael would forget neither reaction.

The Archangel of the Pacific Isles began to smile an instant later, faint enough that he erased it easily off his face when Michaela spun around to stalk back to stand beside him.

Gian, meanwhile, was still clawing at his throat with his right hand.

As Raphael watched, Gian dug into the wound and came out with fingers sliced off at the tips, the bones showing. He stared at the amputated tips, his face white. When one of the other Luminata made a move as if to help him, Raphael just looked at the tall, thin male who would not survive this night. Gervais froze, swallowed, scuttled back.

Alexander and Caliane walked into the room just as Gian finally got the fingers of his left hand around the blade star and tore it out to throw it across the floor in a spray of blood. His fingers flopped backward a heartbeat later, the blade having cut through bone when he gripped the blade star. The severed fingers fell to the floor even as Gian attempted to hold them to his hand. Which was now nothing but a lump of bloody meat.

Raphael felt more than saw Elena's lips kick upward. “I owe Ash dinner at the flashiest vampire restaurant I can find.”

“I am glad your friend is on our side,
hbeebti
.” Janvier's lover—and now wife—was extraordinary in many ways, but her ability to glimpse pieces of the future was one that had first put her on immortal radar.

“Me, too.”

Movement, Elena's grandfather walking over to retrieve the blade star. Jean-Baptiste Etienne had learned from watching Gian, picked up the weapon with the shield of a doubled-up handkerchief that must've been in the clothing he wore, and utilizing only the very tips of his fingers.

Rising to his full height, he used the handkerchief to clean off the blood, then walked back to pass the blade star to Elena. “An expedient tool. You shouldn't lose it.”

Elena grinned. “Thanks.”

Stubborn courage indeed, Raphael thought. Not many vampires would have walked into the center of a group of archangels at any point. Who did this vampire belong to?

“Jean-Baptiste?” It was Favashi's voice, the surprise on her face unhidden and so genuine Raphael couldn't doubt it. “You are meant to be dead. The Luminata reported your death to the steward of my court.”