Archangel's Heart

by Nalini Singh

  "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.

  *

  Elena 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."

  *

  The 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."

  13


  Raphael 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 exag
geration. 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.