Archangel's Legion
Page 56

“You’re right.” Especially since Lijuan and Charisemnon might not be the only threats. Every archangel had forces in the Refuge—pulling Galen and the squadron could well make Raphael’s stronghold too tempting a target for one of the others. Not only that, but the people who looked to him in the Refuge would see any such move as an abandonment, while still others would interpret it as a sign of weakness. And the fall of the stronghold would demoralize his Tower troops, for many had family within those walls.
No, Galen, Venom, and the squadron must remain to guard against a possible Refuge strike. Raphael would have access to Galen’s warrior mind, and Venom’s slyly inventive one, through the constant communications link between the Tower and the Refuge stronghold.
Jason, Naasir, Illium, Dmitri, and Aodhan, they were a formidable force. He knew each would fight with the fury of a thousand ordinary fighters. But as he’d pointed out to Elena, Lijuan, too, had men and women of power by her side. Even with the assistance Elijah had pledged, Raphael’s troops would have to fight with cunning and intelligence to balance the enemy’s greater numbers and strength.
That, however, was a conversation that didn’t have to take place right this instant.
“Go to your princess, Jason,” he told his spymaster. “We’ll talk of the rest come dawn.”
He felt the door open at his back even as Jason took off in silence, a winged piece of the night, and turned to hold out his arm. A sleepy-eyed Elena came into his embrace, the satin of her robe cool against his skin. “Jason?”
Enclosing her in his wings to protect her from the cold, he said, “He brought the news we expected.”
The sleep faded from her expression as he told her what Jason had shared. “I know this is a fight between immortals,” she said, “but I think you’d be remiss not to accept those from the Guild who want to join in the defense. This is a Guild city, too, home of our HQ.”
Raphael had, in truth, not thought of the hunters, dismissing the mortals from the field of battle as too weak, too easily broken. As Elena had once been broken . . . but before that, she’d fought with such heart as even an archangel couldn’t fault.
“Ask Sara to join us in the war room tomorrow morning—she can disseminate the news to her hunters.” He paused. “Ask Deacon, too.” The mortal male was a genius with weaponry, could well come up with innovative strategies on how they could best utilize the weapons at their disposal.
“Can we go out, meet Lijuan’s forces midway?” Elena asked, thinking like the warrior she was. “Rather than letting them hit the city, I mean.”
“Dmitri, Galen, and I gave the option serious consideration, but with our forces weakened, we’re already in a compromised position. Should our people fall in battle over the sea, we may not be able to retrieve them in time.” Meaning loss after loss. “Inside Manhattan, in comparison, we can set up a defensive perimeter, giving us a secure base from which to launch our attacks.”
“What about the rest of the city?”
“I don’t think this is about sacking New York or causing carnage. Lijuan wishes to display her power—to do that, she needs to take the Tower and either kill or subjugate me to her will.” Soft, heavy snowflakes hitting his wings. “Inside.”
Not arguing, Elena walked in and, dropping the robe, jumped under the comforter.
He kicked off his pants and slid in beside her, running his knuckles from her breastbone to her navel. “To reduce the number of possible casualties, I’ll be ordering the evacuation of all humans except Guild personnel who wish to stay.”
Her eyes widened. “All of Manhattan? How can that be done?”
“Illium has taken the lead in the planning and tells me he foresees no problems.”
“Some people won’t want to leave.”
“They won’t have a choice.” Cupping her between the legs without warning, he caught her gasp with his kiss. “Enough talk of battle. Right now, I need my consort.”
The stark statement melted Elena’s bones. Closing her fingers over his nape as her flesh grew warm and damp against his fingers, she tugged him down for a slow, sipping kiss, as if they were two people on a first date . . . but for the fact that he had his hand between her legs, and his thumb was brushing across her clit in a slow, erotic tease.
Wrapping her leg over his hip, she played her fingers through his hair and continued to kiss him soft and sweet. “Come inside me,” she whispered, needing the intoxicating physical connection.
He removed his hand to shift over her, his wings spread in magnificent display. “You are wet for me, hbeebti.” It was an intimate murmur in the dark, the blunt head of his cock pressing against her sensitive entrance.
“So wet for you.” She shivered as he began to push inside her, thick and hard and insistent, her hands splaying on the tensile muscle of his back.
One arm braced beside her head, the hand of his other possessive on her breast, he molded her flesh with erotic confidence and continued to push inside. The intense slide of heated steel across her delicate tissues made her moan, her back arching.
He paused the inexorable pressure to claim a kiss, his tongue tasting her deep, before holding her gaze and thrusting the final thick inch into the tight clasp of her body. They both shuddered, locked together as close as two bodies could get—then his mouth touched her throat and her lips his shoulder, as his hand slid off her breast to caress her thigh.
It was a slow, tender dance, their bodies rocking together as they kissed and touched and murmured to one another in the dark. “Knhebek, Archangel,” she said at the end, pleasure a languorous ripple in her blood and her lover’s skin rough heat over her own.
“Elena.” The masculine groan made her clench around his cock, the hot pulse of his seed marking her in a primal claim.
Wanting to watch his pleasure, she lifted her lashes . . . and felt her breath leave her lungs in a rush, Raphael’s wings edged by an intensely beautiful flicker of haunting white fire.
38
The next day, after a three-hour warning to permit people to gather what they needed, angels hovered over every major route out of Manhattan as an army of cops made sure residents left in an orderly fashion. Normally, the Tower didn’t mess with the civilian force made up of mortals and vampires, but, as with everything else in this territory, the organization fell ultimately under Raphael’s authority, and he’d exercised his power.
Not that the police officers were averse to what they were being asked to do. One of Elena’s cop friends had put it best: “After our briefing this morning about the hurt Lijuan’s planning to bring down on the Tower, and seeing those fucking nasty reborn things scuttling on the pier, I wouldn’t want my family in Manhattan.”
The cops’ next task would be to maintain order in the surrounding boroughs and make certain no one crossed back into Manhattan.
Fear lingered an acrid taint in the air during the evacuation, but the sight of grim-faced angels overhead and equally lethal vampires on watch in the evacuated parts of the city meant no one stepped out of line—especially after Illium picked up a pair who had thought to burglarize an empty building and dumped them into the freezing waters of the Hudson. He left them there for the maximum survivable time, their eyes panicked and lips blue.
“Next time,” the message went out, “we will not retrieve those consigned to the water.”
There were no further incidents.
Jeffrey, Elena was glad to see, moved his family—including Beth—out by helicopter the first day. Beth, by contrast, was hysterical when she called Elena that afternoon. “What if Harrison dies?” her sister sobbed.
Elena didn’t lie; she didn’t say any one of them would make it out of this alive. Instead, she reassured Beth that the city’s defenses were strong, the evacuation a precaution. After hanging up, her sister marginally calmer, she returned to the young angelic squadron to which she’d been attached, their task to assist in the evacuation of the city’s most vulnerable.
Not strong enough to carry sick adults or older children across to hospitals outside Manhattan, she carried bundled-up babies and toddlers. The latter, despite their illnesses, grinned throughout each flight, not a lick of fear in their expressions. “Can we do that again?” a four-year-old asked when they landed, his cheeks bright red because he’d wanted to face the wind the entire time, despite her attempts to shelter him.
Bending down to hug his thin body, the IV port on his left hand appearing far too harsh for his delicate skin, she said, “Yes,” and hoped it was a promise she’d be alive to keep. “After we fight the bad people, I’ll come back and see you again.”
Then she passed him to the care of the nurse who waited, and she returned to carry across another child, the ambulances—road and air—reserved for those who needed the support of medical machinery. Tower, Guild, police, and corporate choppers were all pooled into the effort, while hunters drove the elderly, and those others who required special assistance, from point to point.
Most evacuees had friends and family with whom they could stay, and still others were invited in by kind neighbors in surrounding areas. However, for those who found themselves homeless, emergency services—acting in concert with the Tower—had set up temporary but snug housing facilities on Tower-owned land in nearby areas. The latter had been done well before the evacuation was announced, which spoke to the precision planning behind the entire operation.
Elena had never seen any evacuation proceed with such speed and lack of trouble—but then again, this was the evacuation of a healthy city into equally healthy areas. No natural disaster had blocked supply lines, damaged roads, or hit the workforce.
Forty-eight hours after it began, Manhattan was a ghost city.
Flying above the empty streets, the odd bit of paper fluttering on the pavement and a lone dog looking up at her, Elena felt a shiver crawl down her spine. The heart of her city was meant to be loud and noisy and full of people. Not that she believed they’d evacuated every single mortal—it was a sure bet some enterprising souls had managed to avoid the mass departure, but they were hidden ghosts, the landscape desolate.