Archangel's Legion
Page 51

“The information you’ve shared is worth as much.” It gave him the name of his secondary enemy, Lijuan still the most dangerous. “I tell you now that we’ve begun to develop a vaccine—it’ll take time, but my healers say it can be done. Do you wish me to send the information to your own healers so they can join in the work?”
Titus nodded. “Your honor is strong that you share such. I’ll instruct my healers to work with yours in every way.”
Not wasting time, Raphael sent a mental command to the team in the Tower that was working on the vaccine under Keir’s remote guidance, the healer unable to abandon his duties at the Refuge.
“We must stop Charisemnon and the deathmonger, Lijuan.” Scowling, Titus slammed his ceremonial spear to the ground, the lethally sharp tip painted with pure gold. “We are archangels, protectors of the world, and they seek to defile it in their delusion of godhood.” A roar that no doubt shook the walls of his stronghold before he pinned Raphael with his eyes. “I hope you do not fall prey to the same pride.”
“I have no desire to rule the world—but neither will I allow anyone to threaten my territory.” Warrior to warrior, he held the other man’s gaze. “I would call you ally, Titus, and accept your word and any information you pass my way as truth, if you’ll do the same.” To no other angel, even Elijah, would he speak so bluntly, but Titus had no time for double-talk and political subtlety. He would, Raphael thought suddenly, be someone Elena would like, and he had a feeling the admiration would be returned.
Now, Titus made his decision with his customary lack of delay. “The alliance is forged.”
As he ended the call, he thought of a time when Titus had called him a “stripling” and slapped him on the back in congratulations for a bout well played. Now they were allies standing firm against the same deadly threat. Another change, another sign that the world would be forever altered before this was over.
• • •
Eve was lying flat on her back in the middle of the central core of the house when Elena came downstairs at nine in the morning, having caught approximately four hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep. Body and mind both felt refreshed, the emotional stress of the previous day no longer threatening to scrape her raw.
Good morning, Archangel, she said, connecting with Raphael’s mind across the water, the link effortless.
The cool kiss of the rain, the turbulent sea in her mind. Good morning, hbeebti.
Heart warm and a smile tugging at her lips, she walked across the silk carpet to look down at her sister’s sprawled body. “Eve?” she said, noting that the bruise around Eve’s left eye had faded to a sickly yellow-black that denoted healing.
“Hi, Ellie.” The greeting was breathy. “Sorry, ate too many cakes.”
“Did you scam Montgomery?” She didn’t think the vampire had much experience with children, especially smart children—and Eve was very, very smart.
“I didn’t think he’d actually give me cake for breakfast if I said I was feeling sad.” Astonishment on her face. “Or that he’d give me more when I said I was still hungry. I couldn’t not eat it after that. It wouldn’t have been polite after I asked for it.”
Elena’s shoulders shook as she tried to contain her laughter. “Is that why you’re lying on the floor? Because you can’t breathe?”
“Uh-huh.” Eve patted her stomach. “It’s a nice view.”
No doubt she should return to the Tower, find out if the disease situation had deteriorated in the past few hours, but Elena went down to the carpet and said, “Rise up just a little.”
When Eve did so—with a groan—Elena slid her wing beneath her sister’s body, her arm under Eve’s head, and they lay side by side. The skylight above was beautiful, a sparkling shatter of light.
“Does it hurt if I lie on your wing? I’m kinda heavy.”
“It doesn’t hurt, and you’re not heavy.” Eve had her mother’s petite bone structure paired with a gutsy strength, would no doubt grow up to be a sleek little dynamo.
“I have a layer of puppy fat—that’s what I heard one of my friend’s moms say.” Stated with equanimity. “I don’t think I’m going to become a swan like Amy or Mom or you.” A ferocious scowl. “I just want to be a bit less fat, but I really like cake.”
Elena felt an overwhelming wave of affection. “Would you like to hear a story?”
“Okay.”
“Beth and I, we had two older sisters, did you know that?” She was unsurprised at the shake of Eve’s head, but it hurt to be reminded how thoroughly her father had buried the long-legged dancer he’d once waltzed across the kitchen floor, as thoroughly as the serious second-born with whom he’d discussed stocks and bonds at the breakfast table. “Their names were Mirabelle and Ariel.”
“Did they die?” A quiet question, Eve weaving her fingers with Elena’s.
“Yes. They died.” The words were still so hard to say. “Ari wanted to take care of everyone, and she was kind of bossy.”
“Amy is bossy, too. But I know it’s because she loves me.”
“Yes.” Elena felt the scars of loss stretch painfully as she thought of the time Ari had told her off for running down the stairs, only to cuddle her when her lower lip quivered. “Belle had more of a temper, but she wouldn’t let anyone be mean to me.”
“She sounds like a good sister.”
“She was.” Elena concentrated on the happy memories, fighting against the blood-splattered shadows that threatened to taint the joy. “And she was a dancer. The way Belle could move, it was like watching the wind.”
“I bet she studied a lot.”
“Yep.” Hours and hours, determined to grow up to be part of a prestigious ballet company. “But you know the best part?”
“No, what?”
“Belle used to look just like you when she was younger.” That same appearance of sturdiness created by stubborn baby fat. “I saw the photos. But her dancing soon created lean muscle—just like your hunt training will do for you.”
“I like going to the Academy, even if I get bruises sometimes.” Patting her free hand gently over the inner surface of Elena’s wing, she said, “Ellie?”
“Yes?”
“I’m scared.”
Elena drew her sister into her arms. “I know, baby. I know.”
• • •
Having settled Eve in the kitchen with the laptop after her sister told her she’d e-mailed her teacher the previous night and received the day’s lessons to do at home, Elena had just taken off when Montgomery caught her attention from the clifftop. “Miss Evelyn’s mother is at the gates,” he told her.
“Open them.” Elena folded back her wings, thinking Gwendolyn must’ve driven through the night after receiving the message Elena had used the hunter network in the area to personally deliver.
“Eve?” the other woman asked the instant she stepped out of the mud-splattered black SUV, deep shadows under the dark blue of her eyes.
“Doing her lessons inside,” Elena said. “I didn’t think it was a good idea to send her back to school until you’d returned.”
Gwendolyn ran a trembling hand through her raven black hair. “I’ve just come from the house. Jeffrey—” A sudden break, walls of polite reserve slamming down, as if the other woman had remembered she was talking about her husband to his estranged daughter.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Elena asked, stifling her impatience to get to the Tower—Eve’s future welfare could depend on what Gwendolyn chose to do next.
“No, I’ve already had too much caffeine.” Gwendolyn’s confession was a fracture in the reserve. “I appreciate you helping Eve.”
“This is serious, Gwendolyn,” Elena said, struggling with the ethics of whether or not she had the right to share the truth about her biological grandmother. “Jeffrey really scared her. I don’t think he’s ever going to come to terms with the fact she’s hunter-born.”
The other woman’s cheekbones pushed white against her skin. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t pull anything like this ever again.”
Elena had total faith in Gwendolyn’s love for her daughters, but she understood her father far better today than she’d ever before done. “You can’t watch her all the time.”
“No, but even though Jeffrey and I might not have the relationship he had with your mother”—a bleak reference to a painful earlier conversation where Gwendolyn had admitted she’d known of Jeffrey’s former mistress, and that the woman bore a faded resemblance to Marguerite—“your father needs me in a way I doubt you’d understand.” A sad smile. “He’ll keep his end of our bargain.”
“Mom!” Eve tumbled out the front door at that instant, racing to Gwendolyn.
As the other woman’s slender arms hugged her daughter tight, Elena hoped Gwendolyn was right in her judgment of Jeffrey. Because Elena would not stand by and watch him hurt Eve as he’d hurt her.
“I’ll do whatever I have to, to protect her,” she said to Raphael later that day, outside the warehouse being used as an observation facility.
Raphael had expected nothing less from his consort. “I’ve ordered our communications team to monitor Eve’s name, as well as the flight plans of the Deveraux family jet. You’ll know within minutes should there be anything that throws up a red flag.”
The chain-link fence at Elena’s back was a harsh reminder of the grim reason why they stood here, but her radiant smile threw that into the shade. “Thank you, Archangel.” A distinct and very Elena glint in her eye. “It’s extremely awesome to be consort to a man who is lord of all he surveys.”
“That, Consort,” he said, having already told her of his discussion with Titus, “is a fact Charisemnon and Lijuan would like to change.”