Archangel's Shadows (39 page)

“People are
dancing
?” A small pout. “I want to be outside.”

Shoulders shaking, because he was clearly still feeling the effects of Illium’s concoction, she patted his face. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to seduce and be seduced, Izzy.”

“Can I have more cake?”

She fed the remaining half to him. His eyes were starting to flutter shut by the end, and when she rose to her feet, he was in a peaceful sleep. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she glanced at the doorway to see Keir exchanging an intimate look with a heavily muscled male warrior. The warrior angel’s hand was curved around the side of Keir’s neck, his head bent toward Keir’s shorter and more slender form. Whatever he said made the healer laugh before he slipped out of the warrior’s hold and into the infirmary.

Seeing Elena, he came over. “You look puzzled, Ellie.”

“I am. Last time I saw you with anyone”—back in the Refuge—“it was a woman.” And he, without a doubt, had stubble burn on the dusky skin of his throat right now. Which meant he’d been getting frisky only seconds before she saw him; Keir was too old for the mark not to have faded otherwise.

Smile gentle, he said, “I have been alive thousands of years, have learned that love does not always wear a single face.” A warmth in his eyes. “Ah, but it will for you, will it not?”

“Yes.” Raphael was her heart, would always be her heart. “So, you’re a player?” She sighed. “All this time, I thought you were a nice guy. I introduced you to my single friends, like that sweet squadron leader.”

His laugh soft, he allowed his wing to brush hers. “If I could find what you have with Raphael, I would stop playing. Until then, I will share pleasure with smaller loves—perhaps even your rather lovely squadron leader.” Reaching down to tug a blanket over Izzy, he said, “The boy is doing well. I think he is even more in love with you, however.”

“A little cake and punch and everybody loves me.” Leaving him with a kiss on his cheek, she went to talk to an angel who was down with severed legs, but was able to sit up on her own. She had a drink in her hand and a plate of goodies on the table next to her. “This celebration was a wonderful idea, Ellie.”

Before the battle, none of the squadron but Izak had called her Ellie. It was a welcome change. “How are the legs?” she said, able to ask as she could a fellow hunter.

“It hurts, but the injuries are healing faster than anticipated.” The woman’s dark eyes went to where Raphael was speaking with two other wounded fighters, one an angel, the other a vampire. “The sire is responsible for that.”

Elena didn’t nod, didn’t need to. Raphael’s ability to heal remained nascent, but it was shaving days, sometimes weeks off the recovery time of the injured. According to Keir, what Raphael was doing wasn’t healing as he knew it. Keir’s current theory was that Raphael was sharing power.

Lijuan, Elena thought, shared death. Raphael shared life.

His eyes met hers across the width of the room at that instant, and she saw pride burning in his gaze, the same pride that filled her veins. For their people, who had survived the unimaginable with their spirits intact; for their city, that had stood strong against an unprovoked attack. There was no need for either of them to articulate that. They saw and understood each other in a way few people ever did, mortal or immortal.

For her, love would only ever have a single face, and it was his.

J
anvier tracked Keir down three hours into the party. Catching the healer’s eye, he ducked out into a small room off the corridor.

This, what he had to ask, it was a private thing, an important thing.

“Janvier.” Keir’s wings made a whisper of sound in the doorway. “I am glad to see you are not dead yet.”

Janvier tried to smile at the old joke, but the urgency of what he had to ask tore at him too desperately to allow for levity.

Keir’s expression altered, wise eyes in an ageless face turning solemn. “What is it?”

“You can’t speak about it to anyone else.”

“I will not.” It was the oath of a healer. “Not even should the Cadre ask.”

Hope a white-hot flame inside him, he said, “It’s about Ash.”

•   •   •

A
shwini felt a prickle on the back of her neck that told her Janvier was near, even before Honor said, “Here comes your Cajun.” A shoulder nudge from her best friend, the two of them having spent the past half hour talking. “I’m off to debauch my deliciously sexy husband—you should do the same with Janvier.”

Janvier slid down beside her as Honor left; his thigh pressed against hers, strong and warm, the city spread out below them.

“I thought you went to catch up with your friends from out of town.” He’d brought her a cocktail earlier, danced with her on the roof, then slipped away while she chatted with Honor. Naasir had prowled off before that, in full mate-hunting mode.

“I was speaking to Keir.”

“I didn’t realize you two were friends.”

Janvier took her hand, his expression unexpectedly serious. “I’m going to tell you something,
cher
, and I want you to listen. Don’t dismiss it out of hand. Promise me.”

A tremor shook her on the inside, incited by the fear that he’d ask her to embrace vampirism after all, but her trust in him was stronger than her dread of endless madness. “I promise.”

Leaning forward with his forearms braced on his thighs and his eyes on the angels flying over the city, he said, “I know why you don’t want to become a vampire. An illness of the mind can last centuries for those of my kind.”

Relief rained over her senses. “I could live millennia as a broken shadow.” It was her worst nightmare.

“There’s Dmitri,” he said in an apparent non sequitur. “Do you see him?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled. “Yes, he’s dancing with Honor.” The dark, dangerous vampire was whispering things in Honor’s ear as the two of them swayed to a slow and sensual ballad.

“Keir knew him when he first became a vampire,” Janvier said, “and now a thousand years later, he says that while Dmitri has changed physically, it is in strength and a refining of his features. He hasn’t truly aged.”

Ashwini frowned. “Vampirism doesn’t stop time.”

“No, but it slows it down to an insect’s crawl. Every aspect of aging slows down—including changes in the brain.” His hand squeezed hers. “Keir has seen this in the brains of vampires who have died in accidents or battles. Tumors and fragile blood vessels, among other things, both of which are mortal ailments the centuries-old fallen must’ve had
before
embracing near-immortality—because in the normal course of things, with no strange archangelic powers in the mix,
vampires don’t get sick
.”

Ashwini wanted to grab on to hope, desperate for a lifetime with him, but there was one problem. “Vampires go insane just like mortals.”

“Yes,” Janvier agreed, his voice fierce, “but not from an organic cause. The degeneration is psychological, as with Giorgio. He isn’t insane, but he would’ve been, given enough time, and it had
nothing
to do with his brain.”

No, Ashwini thought, it had to do with a breakdown in his conscience. She had no fear of that happening to her—not with Janvier acting as her balance, and her acting as his. “Could Keir give us any kind of a timeline?”

Bayou green eyes slammed into her own. “A single human year could equal a thousand years as a vampire. A month could mean a hundred years or more.”

All the air rushed out of her lungs. “And then?” she whispered. “When the time comes? Whether after a hundred years or a thousand?”

“Then we go together.” A quiet promise. “When you’re ready, I’ll ask Raphael to erase us with angelfire. You won’t be trapped in an existence you do not wish.”

Ashwini’s heart was in her mouth, her pulse a roar. “Tanu and Arvi gave me this chance.” Without her sister’s death and her brother’s instructions on the autopsy, she’d never have known the apparent insanity had a physical cause.

“There’s no guarantee,
cher
.” Janvier lifted their clasped hands to his mouth, pressed his lips over her knuckles. “You are unique. The change to vampirism could have an adverse reaction, as it does with a small number, and consume you in madness.” His hand trembled. “I could lose you in a heartbeat.” Voice breaking, he took long seconds to continue. “I almost didn’t tell you of the option when Keir spelled out the risk. I would rather have you for a single fleeting day than take the risk. I would be that selfish.”

It was her choice, Ashwini thought, and no matter what she decided, he would fight to come with her, ending his near-immortal existence.

“No,” he said, the word harsh. “Don’t you make this decision for me. The decision must be yours or I will never forgive you.”

“Stop reading my mind.” She glared at him.

“You’re the one with the power.” He glared back. “Stop thinking at me.”

“I don’t know how to stop.” Frowning, she thought of how sexy she found his butt, then stared at him.

He threw up his hands. “I have nothing.”

“Good.” She’d have to figure out how to make the block subconscious. “I was imagining sinking my teeth into your butt. You know it’s been on my to-do list for a while.”

His cheeks creased. “I’m available anytime.”

Resting her head on his shoulder, she kicked out her legs like a child. “If we do this, we could get everything or we could get nothing.”

“I already have everything.” He kissed her knuckles again. “If you agree, you would have to sign on to serve Raphael for a hundred years. I have no fears the sire will do anything but treat you as the gift you are—he does not waste his assets.” Absolute certainty in his tone. “There’s also the risk the transition will either erase your ability or make it painfully more vivid.”

Ashwini ran her free hand up his arm, the earthy, masculine scent of him in her every breath. “Nothing’s guaranteed. I have an impressive scar across my chest to prove it.” The world was in a state of flux as the most powerful beings on the planet jostled for power, war a promise rather than a probability. “We’re both fighters, hunters.” Lifting her head, she kissed his jaw, her eyes holding his. “Our life is never going to be rainbows and puppies.”

“I don’t know.” Smiling, he kissed her fully on the mouth. “I had a pup when I was a boy. I miss his slobbery face.”

She touched noses with him. “You want a dog?”

“Yes.”

“Where are we going to keep a dog in our apartment?”

“I have a house in the Enclave.”

Her mouth fell open. “You have a house in the
Enclave
?” That was the most exclusive piece of real estate in the country. “Vampires your age aren’t that rich.” She poked him in the side. “Did you forget to tell me you were in the vamp mafia?”

“I’m the don.” A solemn face belied by laughing eyes. “I have the house because it was a gift a hundred years ago from an old angel for whom I retrieved a precious object. It’s not grand, but it has a yard and a view over the cliffs.”

Still astonished at the idea that he owned an Enclave house—and not simply a house, but one with a cliff view, she said, “Why don’t you live there?”

He gave her a
look
.

“Right.” An Enclave home was not the kind of place you lived in alone. “Is it vacant?”

“No, but the angel who leases it from me is leaving for another territory in a month. Will you choose the new paint and furniture with me?”

“Are you sure you trust my judgment? You’ve seen my idea of interior design.”

“Your apartment is my favorite place in the city.”

“Sweet talker.” Realizing she was being soppy and silly, she nonetheless kissed him, one of his arms wrapped right around her waist, her hands on his face, and a smile on both their mouths.

“A
hem
.” The interruption was courtesy of Illium. The blue-winged angel hovered in front of them, his hair disheveled and a red lipstick mark on his cheek. “Do you not have a room?”

“Do you?” Janvier responded with a raised eyebrow.

“Many, many rooms.” Flipping backward, the angelic male dropped down like a bullet.

“I think he’s been drinking his own brew.” Ashwini pointed out Illium’s acrobatics below them just as the sky exploded in color, fireworks painting the velvet black.

Janvier’s laugh was deep, delighted. “Sugar, remember—”

“One of your best ideas,
cher
.”

Secret rules,
she thought, her eyes on his profile as he watched the sky rain color,
secret play.
When he met her eyes, his own reflecting the sky, she said, “Full throttle.”

The smile faded from his lips, raw emotion in his voice as he repeated the vow. “Full throttle.”

A
sh spun out with a kick. Stopping it with one hand, Janvier pushed at her foot in a way intended to make her lose her balance. Wise to him, she shifted her weight and, grabbing his other forearm, twisted under and back—or would have if he hadn’t broken the hold to spin around to face her . . . and they were back to where they’d been before she’d chanced the kick.

Facing one another, legs spread and forearms up, grins on their faces.

“Truce?” Janvier asked, blood pumping. “I’m getting kind of hungry.” He also knew that her body had to ache by now.

His Ashblade had rebuilt her strength with teeth-gritted focus after waking from the transformation to vampirism with, as she’d put it, “muscles like noodles.” It was, however, taking time for her to regain her endurance. Not everyone had this severe a physical reaction to the process, but neither one of them was complaining about the side effect. Because she’d also woken with her mind alert and active, her personality unaltered.

“Truce,” she said, lowering her arms to stretch up on her toes before coming down flat on her feet and reaching up to rub the back of her neck.

He just watched her, drank her in. The time she’d spent unconscious during the transition had been the loneliest of his life, the breath-stealing pain of it not yet faded. But it wasn’t the most powerful emotion that held him prisoner. That was naked joy.

“Hey.” Dark eyes on him, his lover drew him into a slow, hot kiss that was a stamp of possession. “I love the way you look at me.”

“Good. I intend to do it for eternity.” Clasping her hand in his, he drew her to their home. As he’d told her, it wasn’t grand, but it was perfect for them. With four bedrooms, there was plenty of space for friends and his family to drop by—which the entire clan would be doing en masse in a month’s time—and the polished wood floor of the sprawling living area gave Ash a built-in dance studio.

The first time she’d danced for him, he’d felt as if she’d gifted him with her soul. It was a gift he treasured with ferocious protectiveness.

“Look,” she whispered, pointing to the happily exhausted form of their new chocolate-colored mutt of a puppy. “He’s adorable, but what’s even more adorable is when you try to teach him to do tricks and he just wants to lick and love you to death.”

“I am not giving up,” Janvier vowed. “He will fetch something for me eventually.” They’d adopted the scraggly furball after someone abandoned him as a newborn at Dr. Shamar’s veterinary clinic, and right now, he was dreaming doggy dreams on the verandah, dark against the white of the walls.

Ash and Janvier—with help from Guild and Tower friends—had stripped the old paint a month earlier and put on a fresh coat of creamy white. It suited the house with its delicate cornices and wraparound verandah. Inside, his Ash indulged her liking for color, turning each room into a warm, welcoming haven.

It was the pieces she’d restored and saved that he most loved.

She was the one who’d figured out how to polish up the double swing with an iron frame that he’d found in a junk shop, the two of them working together to create the large flat cushions for the seat and the back. The rejuvenated swing sat on the back part of the verandah, facing their small but breathtaking view of Manhattan.

Taking a seat on the swing, the puppy curled up underneath in his favorite spot, the two of them unlaced and took off their boots and socks. “Yesterday,” Ash said, eyes sparkling, “when Bluebell dropped by, I asked him to take off his boots before he came inside and he accused me of having an unnatural relationship with our wooden floor.”

“Does he not know it is a most decadent ménage à trois?” Janvier slapped a hand over his heart. “My dear, honeyed floor, let me count the ways I love thee.”

Ashwini laughed at the languid seduction of his voice. “She is a divine other woman.” It was in the two months directly after she woke as a near-immortal that she and Janvier had worked on the floor. She’d been painfully weak then and the repetitive motions needed to strip and polish the wood had acted as low-impact physical therapy.

Four months on, every time she looked at that floor, she remembered lying in the then-empty room with Janvier, the sun’s kiss on their bodies and their hands linked as they discussed their plans for the house . . . and for the future. There was, of course, no way to see the malformation in her brain, but six months on and she felt no different from prior to her Making.

“The countdown is now frozen in amber,” Keir had told her, his hands gentle on her face, “or as close to it as matters not. Live without fear.”

The echo of Arvi’s words had made her eyes burn, her breath stuck in her chest. The hole in her heart that was the space where Arvi and Tanu had lived would always hurt, but she would honor the gift they had given her. For the first time in her life, she no longer knew when she would cease to exist, and that was a wonderful gift.

“How was your meeting with Dmitri?” Janvier asked as they walked inside.

“Good.” Hitching herself onto the counter, she said, “I was able to give him a heads-up on that creepazoid vamp Carys mentioned.” Ashwini was currently working for the Tower in the role of liaison with the people who lived in the gray that had been Giorgio’s hunting ground, though she’d also received dispensation to work for the Guild in her off time.

“It would be idiotic of us to deprive the Guild of one of its best hunters when the hunters do a task that makes our job easier,” Dmitri had said point-blank. “You and Janvier, however, will also work as a team directly under my authority to hunt down older vampires wanted for crimes beyond the purview of the Guild.”

That was a job she could sink her teeth into, with the
best
partner she could imagine. That partner’s eyes widened slightly when she added, “Ellie grabbed me as I was leaving and made us an offer. Turns out she needs a Guard. Founding member is Izzy, with Vivek having just come onboard.”

Janvier handed her a bottle of blood from the fridge. “Both of us?”

“We’re a pair.” It was an irrefutable truth. “She told Raphael she was planning to steal you and he said she’d made an excellent choice.”

Janvier’s smile was slow. “I see no downside,
cher
. We will be expected to undergo intensive training over time, and to come in if Elena needs us—”

“We’d do that anyway.” Ellie was family.

“Exactly. Otherwise, we’ll be kept busy with any number of tasks, much like the Seven.” He came to stand between her knees. “I say yes.”

“Me, too.” Ashwini had the feeling Ellie had no idea what to actually
do
with a Guard—it’d be fun to figure it out with her, hold on tight to that friendship into eternity.

“Speaking of Vivek,” Janvier said, “did you hear he regained the use of his right hand last night?”

Having put the bottle on the counter, Ash pumped her fists in the air . . . then frowned. “
Wait
a minute. Everyone
said it might take over a year for him to regain any voluntary movement below the neck and he has an entire hand already?”

Janvier’s eyes glinted. “Something is afoot, but I do not know what.” Palms braced on the counter on either side of her after he put his bottle down, too, he said, “Aodhan was responsible for Vivek’s Making, but there are rumors Keir was in the room at the time. He must’ve done something.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter if we ever figure out what,” Ashwini said, though her curiosity was a sharp, nibbling creature inside her. “I’m happy for V.”

“Yes.” He picked up her bottle of blood. “You have to drink, sugar.”

Running her fingernails over his scalp, to his shiver, she leaned in to nuzzle at his throat. “I don’t like cold blood.”

Janvier wove his hand into her hair, unraveling her braid and holding her to his neck. “Then it is a good thing I am addicted to your bite.” He jerked slightly when she sank her fangs into him, his pulse thudding as the taste of him—hot, dark, sinful—filled her mouth.

Unlike Janvier, she couldn’t give pleasure with her bite, but that wasn’t a problem. Not when the two of them always ended up naked after she fed from him, the erotic connection so powerful that they were helpless to fight it. It was why she could
never
,
ever
feed from him in public. Her own pulse a racing train, she fumbled with his pants as he tore down the sweats she’d worn for their session, taking her panties with it.

He thrust his hand between her thighs, drove two fingers into her before she could push his own pants down. Crying out, she clung to his shoulders. Her brain was hazy, her balance off. They went to the floor in a tangle of limbs the next second, Janvier twisting to take the brunt of the impact—without ever stopping in his caresses.

Tugging desperately at his workout pants and underwear, she managed to free his cock and realized to her frustration that her sweats were caught at her knees, leaving her unable to straddle him. Janvier gave her no time to sit up to finish the task; he flipped them . . . and then he flipped her. Tugging her up onto her knees, he thrust into her from behind, his entry shockingly, searingly tight because of the way her legs were held together.

Sweat, heat . . . his fangs sinking into her shoulder . . . and boom.

•   •   •

“W
e really need to get a handle on that,” she said some time later, her legs finally free of clothing.

She was on top of Janvier, licking up the two thin trails of blood that had escaped her bite because she hadn’t had the presence of mind to seal the wound before he blew her brains out. That wound was now healing, but he’d carry the bruise for a few days. She kinda liked that, which was why she kept biting him on the neck.

“Why?” He ran his hand down her back and over her butt, luxuriating in her body with an earthy sensuality that made her boneless. “I’m not complaining about quickies straight out of a porn movie.”

She snorted with laughter. “Porn? Seriously?”

His slow, wicked smile caught her heart, made her glad all over again that she’d taken the jump into the unknown. “Didn’t we do it on the bathroom floor last night?” he said. “Today, I have you sans pants in the kitchen. Seems pornish to me.”

Bursting out laughing again, she kissed his gorgeous, playful mouth. “Is this normal? The insane sexual connection?”

“Not that I’ve heard. It is our little gift.” He squeezed her butt. “One that I hope will continue for a long, long,
long
time.”

Sitting up on him, the T-shirt she’d worn to work out in doing its best to preserve her modesty—and failing spectacularly, if the glint in his eye was any indication—she pushed back her hair and spread her hands over his chest. “I’m happy, Janvier.” A whispered confession. “I’m so happy to be here, to be with you. It hurts my heart, the happiness.”

His amusement faded, his expression naked with emotion. “Your heart bruise is a perfect match to mine.” Tugging her down, he cupped the sides of her face, spoke words low and rough that made her feel whole in parts she hadn’t even known were broken.

“Marry me,” she whispered. “I’ll show you things that’ll make you laugh in delight, scream in passion, cry for the sheer joy of it.”

The light in his eyes, it was her whole world. “Done.”