Archangel's Heart (12 page)

A
n hour after their shared bath, a towel-clad Elena had dried her hair using the dryer Montgomery had packed. As shown by the electric lights in the suite and in the hallways, Lumia had undergone a certain level of modernization at some point, so there had been an electrical outlet his hunter could use for the dryer.

That done, and still protected by his glamour, Raphael seated on the edge of the bath only inches from where she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, he watched her slip into one of the more formal gowns Montgomery had packed for her. She'd made him go out and fetch the gown, saying she felt “creeped out” dressing or undressing in any other room in the suite.

He'd gathered his own clothing at the same time, changed into it before settling down to watch his consort.

It hadn't been a difficult task to find any of the items, since Montgomery packed in a pattern with which Raphael was long familiar after having the butler so long in his employ. Their baggage had arrived while he, Elena, and Aodhan had been exploring Lumia, having been flown in from the airport by a small unit of the Luminata's angelic guard carrying a net for that purpose.

No one had touched it since then, as per protocol.

Archangels might be used to staff, but they were also used to privacy.

The gown Montgomery had packed for tonight's formal dinner was in a shade of midnight blue and it had two wide pieces of fabric that came over Elena's breasts before gathering at her waist and flaring out into a skirt that frothed around her feet.

The back was open but for the fine straps that held the top together—and the long line of the spine knife Elena had slipped into a decorative black and gold metal sheath. Because of course, he'd had to go retrieve her weapons before anything else. She wore the harness below the dress, not because it equaled a more aesthetically pleasing appearance, but so no one could tear it off her without first tearing off her dress.

“Priorities,” she'd said to him when he questioned the dangers of having the leather and metal rubbing against her skin. “And Deacon lined the leather of the harness, so I can wear it against my skin without issue.”

That lethal blade wasn't her only weapon.

She wore a gun in one thigh sheath, a hunting knife in the other. Both of which she could reach for through invisible slits built into the froth of her gown's skirt. All of Elena's gowns had such adjustments.

Raphael was pleased.

He didn't want the spine knife to be her only choice: guns might not kill strong angels, but a bullet shredding flesh would hurt even the most powerful angel at least a little. It'd give her a second or two to get into a better defensive position should all hell break loose. “You can reach your gun?”

Elena had it in her hand almost before he saw her move.

A sharp grin, then she lifted her bare foot and placed it on his thigh. Circling her ankle with one hand, he watched her hike up her dress to put the gun back into place in the sheath she wore on her upper thigh. “Montgomery makes the tailor do mock-ups of my gowns and I move in the mock-ups to make sure the adaptations work.”

Sliding his hand up the smooth skin of her thigh, Raphael made himself a promise that he'd be the one taking off the sheath tonight. “I have your blade.”

He allowed her to slip away her foot, then rose to close and buckle up the soft leather straps of the sheath on her upper arm. That sheath glittered with jewels, the buckles brilliant gold. The hilt of the blade itself was as encrusted with jewels, a suitable “show” weapon for an ordinary consort.

Elena wasn't ordinary.

And the blade he'd given her could separate a wrist from an arm without the least problem. “Will you wear your hair sticks?” Jason's princess had given the weaponized sticks to Elena, and Raphael had brought them in with the gown.

In return for Mahiya's gift, Elena had gifted the other woman a crossbow commissioned for the princess that was designed to support her personal style. According to Jason, Mahiya used it every day, not wanting her skills to become rusty.

“Yes,” Elena said. “I want to have my hair up so the long knife on my back is visible. The sticks give me another hidden weapon.” She twisted up her hair with quick, practiced hands, slid in the sticks to hold the twist in place.

Willing to step out of the bathroom and the shield of glamour at last, she padded to their bedroom and found a case of cosmetics before returning to the bathroom. “This should only take a couple of minutes.”

Raphael loved watching Elena ready herself to head out into the world—even more, he loved that while she could spend ten minutes getting the position of a weapon just right, it really did only take her a minute or two to “paint her face” as she put it.

“It's a weapon, too, you know,” she said as she focused on dusting her eyelids with finely shimmering color. “The face, I mean. Distraction and obfuscation. Took me a while to understand that.”

Raphael admired his hunter-consort's wings of midnight and deepest blue and dawn and so many shades from black to white gold. “Michaela is an expert at it.” The other archangel had long ago learned to use her extraordinary beauty to blind others to her power and ambition.

“Yeah, she's good.” Elena picked up a small flat disk that she opened to reveal some kind of hard-pressed powder. “Sara's been helping me learn ‘next level' stuff—beyond my usual routine.”

“I would not think the head of the Hunters Guild would care much for such niceties.”

“You kidding? Sara has to deal with powerful immortals every day.”

And those immortals, Raphael realized, often put too much emphasis on beauty and aesthetics, forgetting a hunter's skill was her greatest weapon. “What has your friend taught you?”

“I'll show you in a minute. Mahiya taught me something, too, the last time she and Jason came over to stay.” A pause. “Don't look at me in the mirror. I want to surprise you.”

“I will admire the curves of your body instead.” And he did, particularly the long, nearly bare sweep of her back.

Not long afterward, she put down a tiny pot and turned toward him: a warrior princess who looked at him with eyes of wild silver that appeared huge in the dark gold skin of her face, her cheekbones razors and her throat a long line.

“You like it?”

“I like you in all your faces, Guild Hunter.” And he knew no matter which face she wore, she remained a warrior first and foremost.

Looking disgruntled, Elena put her hands on her hips. “Come on, I made a special effort with the goop.”

Rising to his feet, he cupped her jaw, took in her eyes. “The kohl is from Mahiya.”

“Yep.” She held up a fingertip smudged black. “Let me wash this off. Mahiya said there are pencils I could use, but she's always used a tiny pot of kohl and her little finger and that works for me, too.”

“I thought you a warrior princess when you turned to me.” He kissed her on lips she'd left unpainted.

Gripping the black leather of his gauntleted forearm, she opened her mouth to his even as he claimed hers. When they broke apart, her eyes glittered, her skin flushed under a fine shield of cosmetics.

*   *   *

E
lena washed off the faint remnants of the kohl on the pad of the smallest finger on her right hand, then checked her face in the mirror before slicking on a lipstick that made her lips appear a little bit plumper. Finished with the primping—
weapon
, she
reminded herself,
it's another weapon
—she went into the living area to see that Raphael was putting on his boots.

Since her own boots would only take seconds to pull on, she leaned in the doorway and just watched him. He'd gone for “formal warrior” in his clothing choice and she approved. Black gauntlets covered each of his forearms, the same color as his pants and shirt. That shirt had no sleeves and was patterned on fighting leathers; two thin black strips of leather ran across his shoulders, and in place of the collarless neckline of fighting leathers, this one had a raised mandarin collar closed on the right with a steel black pin that echoed the Legion mark.

Closing down one side of his chest rather than in the middle, the shirt had no visible buttons, but it not only fit flawlessly across his chest, it did the same around his wings.

Aside from the pin, which only became visible at close quarters, there was only a single point of ornamentation on his body—the ring of platinum and amber that he wore as a symbol of Elena's claim. Elena wore her own amber in her ears—and in the blade strapped to her upper arm. It had taken her months of owning the gift to realize there were pieces of highly polished amber embedded in among the gemstones.

Her archangel was just slightly possessive.

Smiling, she walked over to join him when he rose to his feet. The stark black of his clothing threw the brilliant blue of his eyes and the Cascade mark into brutal focus. “You look like a primal warrior barely contained.” The sophistication remained, but it had a harsh edge that would remind everyone of his origins as a man honed in combat.

“Good.” Raphael watched in silence as she slipped on her soft calf-length “gown boots”—because Elena did not do heels. “Ready?”

“Let's go show them how New Yorkers do things.”

*   *   *

T
he first person Elena saw when she walked into the glass- ceilinged Atrium—as the huge room with the high ceiling had been described by the guide who'd left them at the door—was Michaela. The archangel who'd once been known as the Queen of Constantinople and now controlled the vast majority of Europe as well as part of what had once been Uram's territory was
wearing a gown of darkest green that hugged her every curve and had a neckline that plunged almost to her belly button.

In a fairer world, that would've made her look trashy.

This wasn't a fair world: the Archangel of Budapest, Michaela taking her current title from the city in which she kept her court, looked like the embodiment of beauty. Her skin had no blemishes, her curves the catalyst for a million wet dreams, her face all clean lines put together with haunting perfection and her eyes an intense green—jewels without flaw but for the ring of a lighter acidic green that, at times, appeared without warning around her irises.

Uram's taint.

The acid wasn't present today. Michaela had also put up her hair, into a complicated pattern it must've taken someone an hour to create. It revealed the swanlike elegance of her neck.

Then there were the stunning wings of delicate bronze that she held off the floor with effortless muscle control.

There was a reason Michaela was known as the most beautiful woman in existence.

Beyond her, past the cream-colored settees arranged into seating areas, and the meticulously set dinner table, right against the wall on the very far side of the Atrium, stood her psychotic pet vampire, Riker—Elena had caught his jarringly evocative scent when she entered the room: cedar painted with ice. Of course, he was handsome, too, all blond hair and eyes of darkest brown, his wide-shouldered, slim-hipped body that of a fashion model. Psycho didn't mean ugly, not among mortals or immortals.

And Elena didn't think Michaela tolerated physical imperfection.

Catching her glance, Riker smiled . . . and licked his tongue over his lips.

Creep.

She didn't give him the benefit of a response, focusing her attention on his mistress.

Michaela was looking up at Titus and laughing at something the warrior archangel was saying. Big and heavily muscled, his skin gleaming jet and his smile a dazzling thing, his wings powerful, Titus was no slouch in the looks department, but it was his sex appeal that most impacted women. Obviously, even Michaela wasn't immune.

“I don't think I've ever before seen Michaela
actually
laughing,” she said to Raphael, the two of them far enough away and the room cavernous enough that no one could hear them. “Not when she's not putting on an act.” It made the other woman even more extraordinarily beautiful.

And Elena could see how men would fall for her.

“At least Titus has the brains not to bite down on any lures she may throw out,” was Raphael's response. “He has seen through her for an eon.”

“Good. I really like Titus.” The big angel said what he meant and meant what he said. “I don't see Dahariel.”

“Astaad likely left his second in charge at home, as we did Dmitri.”

“Right, I keep forgetting that while Dahariel might have slept with Michaela, his loyalty is to Astaad.” That messed with her mind. “I don't know if I could ever sleep with a man who wasn't loyal to me.”

The crashing wind, the salt-laced sea of Raphael's voice in her mind.
That will never be an issue, Consort. Since you will only ever be sleeping with me.

Laughing at that icy response, she turned to lock her gaze with his. “Just don't forget—that goes both ways. I'll use the pretty blade you gave me to hack off the head of any woman who touches you.”

His lips curved. “Of course.” Not shifting his eyes from her own, he said, “It seems Gian is intrigued by you.”

“I could feel the back of my neck prickling. Figured it was Michaela shooting poison at me with her eyes.” Elena turned back toward the others, keeping her motions natural, as if she was simply taking in the room once again. “I'd quite like to talk to the guy, get his measure.”

“This is a good opportunity. It may be nothing but curiosity, but if he's interested in testing the strength of a mortal hunter turned consort, you'll be safer here than if he catches you alone.”

Elena tried not to frown. “You think he's dangerous?”

“I've just remembered where I know the name from.”

R
aphael leaned in to speak against her ear, an archangel and his consort sharing a private joke. “Gian was the second of an archangel who has Slept since before Neha's ascension. He is at least five thousand years old and dangerously strong.”

Smiling to keep up the illusion of a private conversation between lovers, Elena said, “Got it. I'll watch myself.”

“He also had a reputation for being a man who enjoyed the pleasures of life and who had many lovers, all of them women.” Raphael's tone was thoughtful. “From that to this bastion of maleness, it's an unusual progression.”

“I dunno—sometimes people take stock of their life and don't like what they see. Could be what happened to Gian.” She glanced over her shoulder to check on Aodhan.

The angel had taken up a position against the wall of the Atrium nearest the door, alongside several of his fellow escorts. One of those escorts, Elena saw, was a well-armed and gorgeous woman with a blunt fringe of black hair against skin of muted brown—and she was looking straight at Aodhan, invitation in her smile.

Aodhan's attention, however, was on Elena.

Turning back around after their eyes met in a silent
communication that all was well—so far—she asked Raphael about the woman, then held up a hand. “Wait, let me guess. Hmm . . . Neha's escort?”

“Titus's,” Raphael told her with a smile. “He adores soft, feminine women, but he also has a powerful contingent of female warriors. I'm fairly certain the woman is the fourth in his command structure.”

Reminding herself that all the archangels were multidimensional, she saw that Michaela and Titus were still talking, while Gian remained in another area, in conversation with Astaad. Mele was nowhere to be seen, but Elena glimpsed Hannah and Elijah in the far opposite corner of the Atrium. Alexander and Xander stood with the couple, Alexander dressed in black pants, boots, and a silver breastplate stamped with an image Elena couldn't make out from this distance.

Missing were Neha, Favashi, Charisemnon, and Caliane. “You had contact with your mom?”

“She is about to arrive.” Raphael began to move, Elena moving with him.

“Let's wait, greet her,” Elena said after a thought. “No harm in everyone here knowing you two are a unit.” Caliane might've once been an insane mass murderer, but she appeared sane now—and full of remorse for the atrocity she'd committed in her madness. And she'd stood by Raphael since the instant she awoke from her long Sleep.

Raphael shook his head. “I am not Caliane's son at this moment—I am the Archangel of New York. I wait for no one.”

Damn subtle archangelic politics, Elena thought to herself. She'd learned so much but countless things could still trip her up. Because Raphael was right—he couldn't be seen to be waiting for his mother to arrive. And what the hell was he doing now?

“Are you heading toward Michaela?” she asked
sotto voce
. “Good God, why? If you want someone to stab you in the back, I have plenty of knives.”

His laughter caught Michaela's attention, her head angling toward them. “Titus and Michaela are the closest to us,” he murmured. “It is simple courtesy—and I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to examine her more closely.”

“Unfortunately, I don't think you can tell just by looking at
someone if they gave birth a year ago.” The idea of Michaela birthing a child was still a hard one for her to accept. “She was probably just playing a game, or maybe she was Sleeping off Uram's poison.” That was a possibility Elena hadn't previously considered and it made just as much sense as the secret birth of a baby that might or might not have been impacted by the same poison. “Her figure certainly hasn't changed.”

Then they were too close to risk further discussion. Mere seconds later, Titus greeted Raphael with a back-slapping hug that made it clear to the room at large that he considered Raphael an ally. Then, as Elena gritted her teeth, Raphael touched his hand to Michaela's in a polite greeting between Cadre.

Titus, meanwhile, was gripping Elena's forearm in the way of warriors—though he'd tempered his strength, likely as a result of a mental reminder from Raphael. The warrior archangel had accepted Elena as a fellow warrior to the extent that he sometimes forgot she wasn't as physically strong as an archangel. “Ellie,” he said, using the nickname she'd asked him to use. “When is your next block party?”

His booming true voice filled the room, the enthusiasm in it making her grin. “Maybe after we sort out this whole possible mass bloodlust situation,” she said and, forearm shake complete, forced herself to turn to Michaela. “Archangel Michaela,” she said politely. “It has been many moons.” The words were a stock phrase Jessamy had taught her. She felt like adding:
I hope it's way more moons to our next meeting.

“Guild Hunter,” Michaela responded.

The other woman probably thought she was delivering a subtle put-down by referring to Elena's occupation rather than her status as Raphael's consort, but Elena would never be insulted by being referred to as a hunter.

And Raphael would never be insulted on her behalf.

“Your markings are astonishing, Raphael,” Michaela said in a much warmer tone, her sultry voice pitched just right. “I confess I had no idea of their impact from seeing the images broadcast by the media.”

Leaving Raphael to handle Michaela, well aware her archangel would never have the extreme bad taste to be seduced by that viper, Elena focused on Titus. “I was looking forward to seeing your own markings, Titus.”

The Archangel of Southern Africa had developed gold markings across his massive chest, but tonight, those marks were covered by a gold breastplate, the designs etched into the breastplate almost as intricate as the carvings that decorated the hallways and walls of this complex. As with Alexander, the back of the piece was made of thick but pliable leather.

“Ellie, for you, anything.” Titus was back to using the softer tone he consciously adopted in social situations. “I hope we will not always be in meetings.” His scowl made his opinion of meetings clear. “If so, I will spar with Raphael. You may watch.”

Before, Elena might've taken that permission as condescension. Now she understood that Titus would spar with her, too—if he wasn't so sure he'd rip off her arms when fired up by battle fever. “I'll take you up on that,” she said. “Galen still speaks of all that he learned in your armies.”

Even as Titus beamed at the mention of Raphael's weapons-master, there was movement near the entrance. Caliane walked in, a woman with haunting blue eyes and raven hair, the template from which Raphael had been cast. Her hair flowing down her back and adorned by the thinnest of diamond tiaras, the gems glittering like ice on fire, she wore a gown in glacial white that turned her into a queen of frost and flame.

However, it wasn't her mother-in-law who caught and held Elena's attention.

Tasha had walked in behind Caliane, now took position among the escorts.

Scarlet haired and with slanted eyes of a vivid green, her wings a rich copper, the scholar and warrior looked out over the crowd. Her lips curved when they landed on Raphael, the archangel who'd once been her playmate, then her lover.

Regardless of the fact that Raphael and Tasha's relationship hadn't lasted, Elena wasn't immune to a twinge of irritation. Why the hell did Raphael have such great taste in exes?

“Ellie.”

Turning at the sound of that lyrical female voice, Elena smiled. “Hannah.” She hugged the other woman with open warmth.

She and Hannah had first made contact because they were the only two consorts in the Cadre, but their bond had
transformed into a true friendship over time: two very different women who'd found common ground.

Drawing back from the embrace after a long moment, Hannah said, “You look lovely and fierce.”

“Montgomery,” Elena said, admiring how Hannah had woven a fine string of iridescent black pearls through the elegant bun in which she wore her hair. “He's my fashion consultant.”

Hannah's laugh was throaty. “I would steal your butler, Elena, except that he is so passionately devoted to you and to his sire.”

“You don't need Montgomery's help—you always look gorgeous.” That was no exaggeration. Hannah had an artist's eye and knew the colors that looked good against the ebony of her skin. Which, honestly, was pretty much every shade under the sun.

Today, she'd gone for a shimmering copper that made her glow and set off the peach accents in her wings. The dress had a high neck and no sleeves, swept down her body in a column with a slit down one side. Stylish yet simple—but for the touch at the top of the slit: the palm-sized image of a crouching puma picked out in gemstones that ranged from the hard clarity of diamonds to the smoky browns of topaz.

Elena approved of the subtle reminder of Elijah's Cascade-given gift—the ability to command both birds of prey and large jungle cats. “How are the pumas?”

“They know not to invade my studio unless I invite them in,” Hannah said in a very stern tone. “In all honesty, I have come to care for the creatures—how could I not when my favorites wait outside the studio for me, then curl up in the sun and watch as I go about my work.” She shook her head. “Elijah keeps telling me I'm spoiling them, that they need to be ferocious beasts, not pets, but I know they would protect me to the death should it come down to it.”

Elena had to agree—she'd seen recordings of the pumas and they were definitely wild animals. That they adored Hannah was a reflection of Elijah's love for her. “So you're not interested in learning to throw paint knives now that you have a guard of pumas? I told Raphael we'd get up to mayhem.”

Hannah's smile turned into a grin, an expression Elena had
never thought she'd see on the elegant consort's face when they'd first met. That was before she'd realized that while Hannah's private face included her elegant side, the other woman also had a wicked playfulness to her.

It made Elena wonder what she didn't know about Elijah.

Because the man who'd won Hannah's heart would have to have a touch of playfulness in him, too. And
that
was a fact that simply didn't mesh with her view of Elijah—he was more like a stable older brother, if that older brother was a brutally powerful archangel.

“Oh, I like the idea of causing mayhem.” Leaning closer, Hannah whispered, “Shall we kidnap Tasha and pluck off her feathers?”

“Don't put ideas in my head.”

“Consort.” The voice was purest beauty, the woman who spoke equally so.

Turning to greet her mother-in-law without cutting Hannah off from the conversation, she inclined her head
exactly
the right amount to acknowledge their relationship without diminishing Elena's standing as Raphael's consort. The funny thing was that it wasn't Jessamy but Caliane who'd taught her that precision bow—a little mother-in-law–daughter-in-law bonding exercise when Caliane realized no one knew how to deal with the protocol between an Ancient mother-in-law and her archangelic son's consort.

Funnily enough, that particular situation had never before come up.

“It is good to see you,” Elena said now, going off-script from the ceremonial greeting because she and Caliane had progressed beyond that in the short, stealthy visits Caliane had made to New York, and Raphael and Elena to Amanat, during the past two years. “You know Hannah, of course.”

“Hannah, my dear.” Caliane closed her hands over one of Hannah's, leaned in to kiss the other woman on the cheek.

The difference in greetings was no insult. Elijah had been one of Caliane's loyal generals before his ascension to archangel, and even afterward, he'd never betrayed her. Rather, he'd looked out for her son.

“Lady Caliane.” Hannah's smile held an infectious warmth as she used the same title Elijah continued to use for Caliane,
an equal who chose to acknowledge the history he shared with Caliane.

Elijah could do that without repercussions, was old enough to get away with it. Raphael had to tread a far more careful path. His relationship with Caliane had never been of equals when he was younger—he couldn't hark back to it without also reminding the rest of the Cadre of the boy he'd been. More, he'd only been an archangel for approximately five hundred years, a drop in the ocean in angelic time.

“I've almost finished the piece I sketched in Amanat,” Hannah said, the words a whisper so others wouldn't overhear of Hannah and Eli's visit to Caliane's city, learn they'd left their territory at times. “I have great hopes of showing it to you within the next six months.”

“I will await the unveiling with anticipation,” Caliane responded warmly before returning her attention to Elena . . . only for her gaze to skate past Elena, the look in them changing to a piercing love that only appeared when she looked at one person.

“Raphael, my son.” She took Raphael's kiss on the cheek in greeting, touched her own fingers to his cheek in return.

It was still a shock to Elena's system to see them side by side. They appeared near to the same age, though Caliane was older by many,
many
millennia. Unexpectedly, Caliane then spoke to Elena. “Consort, I would be pleased if you would walk with me tomorrow eve prior to dinner. I would hear of my son's home, learn how his people are doing.”

Why isn't she asking you?
Elena said to Raphael, even as she accepted Caliane's invitation.

Her archangel placed his hand on the bare skin of her lower back as his mother moved on to speak to Alexander. Hannah, too, had been drawn away—by Elijah, who'd smiled a hello at Elena, Raphael and the other archangel having already spoken.

She is preempting those who might believe they can drive a wedge between us by using the fact you are not the consort my mother would've chosen for me.