Archangel's Kiss gh-2

by Nalini Singh

  There was a knock on the main door fifteen minutes later. Having rushed through a shower, Elena opened it to find an old vampire with eyes that twinkled. He had a measuring tape around his neck and pins in his pocket. His assistant carried tailor’s chalk and what appeared to be a case containing a thousand swatches of material.

  She was, it seemed, getting measured for clothing suitable for Lijuan’s ball.

  All of it in shades of blue.

  Raphael returned from his meeting with Elijah and Michaela to discover Jason waiting for him. The black-winged angel kept his silence until they were in Raphael’s office. “Maya’s uncovered something disturbing about Dahariel.” He handed over a file.

  Opening it, Raphael found himself faced with the photographic image of a young male who’d only just crossed the threshold that separated man from boy. “Mortal?”

  “No.” Jason gripped the wrist of one hand with the other, the hold so tight, Raphael saw the blood flow stop to his hand. “He was Made half a millennium ago.”

  Before the Cadre decreed that no mortal below the age of twenty-five could be Made without lethal consequences for the Maker. Mortals today would judge the Making of this boy a crime, but five hundred years ago, humans had lived much shorter lives. At this age, the boy might’ve been a father already, would almost certainly have been expected to earn his own way in the world.

  “He signed on to serve Dahariel for five decades, three years ago,” Jason said, that grip ever tighter.

  Raphael closed the file. “What is it you’re not telling me, Jason?”

  “The boy hasn’t been seen for the past year.”

  Raphael felt a dark wave of anger. The Made were at the mercy of their Makers, and after the expiration of their original Contract, if they couldn’t care for themselves—at the mercy of those to whom they chose to give their loyalty. Too many chose wrong. “Murder isn’t a crime if a vampire is under contract.” An inhuman law—but vampires weren’t human. In many cases, they were predators barely leashed. But angels were predators, too. And this boy had delivered himself into the hands of one.

  “The boy isn’t dead,” Jason said, to his surprise. “It appears that Dahariel is keeping him in a private cage for his . . . entertainment.” The toneless way that word came out told Raphael more about Dahariel’s idea of entertainment than anything else. “And because he signed on to serve Dahariel of his own free will, no one can do anything to help him.”

  “What did Dahariel promise in return for this vampire’s allegiance?” Murder wasn’t a crime, but there were certain unwritten laws that had to be followed, laws that kept the structure of the world from imploding on itself. One such law required that all service contracts be honored—on both sides.

  “Protection against other angels.” Jason’s laugh was utterly without humor. “It seems the boy is still weak after all these years of existence. He’s survived this long only by tying himself to those stronger than him.”

  “He chose his eternity, Jason.” Harsh, but true. No one who’d lived for five hundred years could fail to understand the cruelty engendered by age, the darkness that lived in the heart of so many immortals. If this boy had signed with Dahariel without doing his homework as to the angel’s proclivities, that was a mistake he’d have to live with—if he lived. “We can do nothing for him.” Because Dahariel had only promised protection from other angels.

  Jason’s eyes met his, the pupils black against irises of almost the same austere shade. “According to those of his household who’d talk, Dahariel takes great pleasure in torturing the boy with such slowness that it ensures some part of him is always healed, able to bear more. They say he’s already lost in madness.” Raphael could see Jason fighting his rage, but his next words were icily rational. “The way Noel was beaten—it would fit Dahariel’s methods.”

  “Astaad won’t move against him for that alone.” Especially since it would mean admitting he’d fostered a viper in his midst.

  “Maya’s continuing to keep watch. I’ve also got information coming out of Anoushka’s court.”

  “Anything of note?”

  “She emulates her mother, but she’s stopped growing in power.”

  “So she knows she’ll never be an archangel.” It might be enough to push an already fractured personality over the edge. “Did she discover that recently?”

  “No. A decade ago. And she displays no signs of disintegration.”

  Acceptance or a mask, there was no way to tell. “The Guild Director was able to track the theft of a crate of Guild daggers to a warehouse in Europe two days after Elena woke.” It angered him to see Elena being stalked, but his hunter, he thought, could take care of herself. So, now that he was healing, so could Noel. It was the abuse suffered by Sam that drove them all. “Nazarach was embroiled in a hunt for one of his vampires at the time—a female who managed to cross over into Elijah’s territory.”

  Jason nodded. “He’d have been distracted, unlikely to choose that time to orchestrate the theft.”

  That was what Raphael had concluded. “See if you can pin down Anoushka’s and Dahariel’s movements.”

  “Sire.”

  “Jason,” Raphael said as the other angel turned to leave, “you can’t rescue the boy, but I can buy out the remainder of his contract.” Dahariel wouldn’t say no to an archangel, especially not if he was the angel behind the sekhem-linked violence.

  “Dahariel will only find another victim.” Jason’s eyes were bleak.

  “But it won’t be this boy.”

  As Jason left after a small nod, Raphael wondered if the scars on the angel’s soul would ever heal. Most would have gone mad after a few years of Jason’s “childhood.” But the black-winged angel had endured. And when the time came, he’d given his loyalty to Raphael, harnessing his intelligence in service to an archangel.

  If saving this boy would give him a measure of peace, then Raphael would deal with Dahariel. And if the angel proved to be the one who’d hurt Sam, then Raphael would take even greater pleasure in tearing him apart one small piece at a time, keeping him alive so that he’d feel every burn, every break, every brutal slice.

  Because while angels might be predators, it was the archangels who sat at the top of the food chain.

  28

  “Have you come to play at last?” A smile tinged red. “You’re late.”

  “Run,” a broken word. “Run, Ellie.”

  The monster laughed. “She won’t run.” A satisfied smile as he lowered his mouth to Ari’s throat. “She likes it, you see.”

  Something wrapped around her body, an invisible hand that touched her in her most private place. She went to scream. But her mouth didn’t open, her throat didn’t vibrate . . . because her body did like it. Horrified, she began to claw at her skin, trying to rip it off in a futile attempt to stop the insidious, terrifying pleasure. Warmth bloomed between her legs and her young mind couldn’t take it. Whimpering, she scratched harder. Blossoms of blood appeared under her nails as welts rose on her arms.

  The caress—the scent—stopped. “What a pity you’re too young for that. We would’ve had such fun.” He wiped off a drop of blood from his mouth, held out his finger. “Taste. You’ll like it. You’ll like everything.”

  * * *

  Reaching home as night fell, Raphael saw Elena standing on the cliff edge below his stronghold, her eyes on the tiny lights that dotted the caves lining the gorge. The wind raised her unbound hair off her face as she turned back to the view after watching him land behind her, the white-gold silver under the moonlight.

  “Did Galen tell you what Lijuan sent me?” she asked as he came to stand beside her.

  “Of course.” He’d heard Galen’s report of her reaction, but now found himself watching her face. The line of her profile was clean, her lips the only hint of softness—his warrior, he thought, reaching out to brush a single strand of hair teasing her cheek.

  Her lashes came down as she blew out a breath. “I understa
nd the stakes. Part of me is violently glad you did what you did.”

  “Then?”

  “Part of me wishes I’d never learned anything of this world.”

  He spread his wings, protecting her from the wind that had shifted direction, keeping his silence as she stared down at the river that crashed so far below.

  “It was inevitable, wasn’t it?” she said at last. “From the instant I was hunter-born, it was inevitable I’d know of blood and death.”

  “There are some for whom it’s not inevitable.” His wing brushed hers. “But for you, yes.”

  The moonlight caught the shine of her cheek and he realized his hunter was crying. “Elena.” Enfolding her in his wings, he tugged her into his embrace, his hand on her hair. What would bring her to tears? “Did your father do something to hurt you?” If Raphael could have killed the man without destroying Elena, he would have long ago.

  She shook her head. “He came for me.” It was a raw whisper. “Slater Patalis was drawn to my family because of me.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “I know. I remembered.” Her eyes were rain-coated diamonds when she looked up. “ ‘Pretty hunter,’ ” she said in an eerie singsong tune. “ ‘Pretty, pretty hunter. I’ve come to play with you.’ ” Giving a little scream, she fell to her knees.

  He fell with her, enclosing her in the warmth of his wings as he pulled her stiff body into his embrace. “Are the memories coming to you outside of sleep?”

  “I was reading one of Jessamy’s texts, waiting for you to come home and my eyes closed for a second. It’s like the memories are just waiting for a chance now.” Her body jerked against him as she sobbed. “All this time I’ve hated my father because I told him the monster was coming and he wouldn’t listen, when it’s me Slater came for. Me! I drew him to our family.”

  “A child is not to be blamed for the actions of evil.” Raphael wasn’t used to feeling helpless, but there was nothing he could do as Elena’s heart broke in front of him. Crushing her closer, he murmured wordless reassurances in her ear, fighting the urge to wipe her memories clean, to give her the peace she needed so desperately.

  It was one of the hardest battles he’d ever fought. “You are not to blame,” he repeated, his body glowing with an anger that had nowhere to go.

  Elena didn’t say a word, just cried so hard that her entire body shook. Pressing his lips to her temple, he rocked her as the stars got piercingly bright, as the lights went out in the ledges below, as the wind grew freezing with a touch of snow. He held her until her tears were long gone and the moon kissed her wings like a lover long denied. Then he rose with her to the sky.

  Fly with me, Elena.

  Her wings unfurled, though her voice remained silent.

  Keeping an eye on her, he took her on a wild, exhilarating ride through mountain ridges and passes, the air cutting across their cheeks. She followed with grim determination, finding ways around obstacles when she couldn’t move fast enough to slip in through the small gaps Raphael utilized. It took concentration, which was exactly what he’d counted on.

  By the time they landed, she was swaying on her feet. He all but carried her inside and put her to bed, nudging her into a dreamless sleep with a small mental push. She’d be angry with him for it, but she needed her rest. Because their time was nearly up.

  Lijuan’s ball was in a week.

  29

  Elena lay in bed as Raphael dressed the next morning, watching him pull on one of the specially designed shirts that flowed around his wings. She felt tender, bruised. He’d held her all night, she thought. He’d kept the nightmares at bay. For him, she’d find the strength to fight a guilt that threatened to choke her.

  Sitting up, she took a sip of the coffee sitting beside Destiny’s Rose. “How do your shirts seal at the bottom?” She’d never seen any buttons below the wing slots. That seemed to be what most of the powerful angels preferred, the closures small and discreet—all but invisible. The younger angels, in contrast, seemed to go for more intricately designed options, each as unique as the wearer.

  Raphael raised an eyebrow. “I’m an archangel and you ask me how my shirts stay sealed?”

  “I’m curious.” Focusing on the distraction to keep her mind off the past, she put down the coffee and crooked a finger.

  The archangel was apparently in the mood to obey, because he left his shirt unbuttoned to walk across, brace himself with his hands on either side of her, and bring his mouth down over hers. The kiss was a claiming, no two ways about it. Long and deep and slow, it curled her toes, brought her nerves to burning life, made her moan in the back of her throat. “Tease,” she accused softly when he lifted his head.

  “I must ensure you never lose interest.”

  “Even if I live a million years,” she said, caught in endless blue, “I don’t think I’ll ever find any man as fascinating as you.” Acute vulnerability hit a moment later. She pushed at the heat of his chest. “Show me the shirt.”

  A tipping up of her chin, a kiss that told her the archangel was in a tender kind of mood. “I do as my lady commands.” He turned to give her his back.

  Pushing off the sheets, she sat up on her knees. “There’s no seam,” she muttered, peering at the bottom of the slots. “No button, no zip. I half expected Velcro.”

  Raphael coughed. “If you were not mine, hunter, I’d have to punish you for that insult.”

  Her archangel was playing with her. It was an odd realization, and one that made the heavy weight on her heart lift a fraction. “Okay, I give. How do you seal the slots?”

  He held out a hand, shifting to face her. “Watch.”

  It took real effort of will to turn her head from the gorgeous plane of his chest. If she wasn’t careful, she thought, the archangel might yet make her his slave. Her eyes widened the instant she spied his hand. “Is that what I think it is?” Blue flame licked over his hand, making her heart kick.

  “It’s not angelfire.” He closed his hand, ending the light-show. “It’s a physical manifestation of my power.”

  She blew out a breath. “You use that to seal the edges?”

  “The edges aren’t actually sealed. Look carefully.”

  She’d looked plenty carefully, but now, she lifted up the shirt almost to her eyes. And that was when she saw them. Strands of finest blue, so fine as to be almost invisible, threaded through the white of the linen. How much power, she thought, stunned, must he have to do something like this without thought? This man would never ever tell her she was too strong, too fast, too tough. “I’m guessing us peons can’t do this?”

  “It requires the ability to hold power outside the body.” Turning, he rubbed a thumb over her lower lip. “As yet, you have very little power so the point is moot.”

  She caught his wrist, looked up. “Raphael, am I going to have to Make vampires?”

  “You’re an angel Made, not born.” He caressed her with his thumb once more. “Even Keir doesn’t know the answer to that question.”

  And Keir, she knew without asking, was an ancient. “But if I do—”

  “It’ll not be anytime soon.” A rock-solid answer. “Your blood was free of the toxin when you woke. You’ll be tested several times a year now that you’re awake.”

  “Is it hard? To Make someone?”

  Raphael nodded. “The choosing is difficult. It’s to the Cadre’s benefit not to select those who’re weak, who’ll break, but mistakes happen.”

  Hearing what he’d never enunciate, she pressed a kiss to his palm.

  “However the act itself,” he said, his voice dropping, “is as intimate as you choose to make it. For many, it’s a clinical process akin to giving blood. The human is put into a medicated sleep during the transfer.”

  Relief made her shudder. “I thought it would be like when you kissed me.” The intimacy of it had shaken her to the soul.

  Cobalt flame. “Nothing will ever be like our kiss.”

  Heart thundering, she r
ose to stand on the bed, her hands on his shoulders. He looked up the naked sweep of her body. “Elena.”

  She kissed him. His response was an inferno, but she felt the tension beneath the surface. “We have to leave soon don’t we?”

  “Yes.” His hands smoothing over her butt, slow and easy. “We’ll take mortal means of transportation to Beijing.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more impressive to fly in?”

  “Endurance flying requires muscle strength you don’t have yet.” A practical answer, but his hands slid lower . . . lower. “It’s to our benefit that she consider us weak going in. It’ll make her careless. We’ll need every advantage if she truly has crossed the line into irrevocable madness.”

  “Raphael . . .” She shuddered, thrust her hands into his hair. “Galen’s right. I do make you vulnerable. And she knows my weaknesses.”

  So did I, Elena. And yet you hold my heart.

  Two hours later found Elena back in the beaten earth ring that had become as familiar to her as her own face. Probably because she’d been up close and personal with it more than once.

  “So,” she said, staring into the slitted, inhuman eyes of her sparring partner, “you do occasionally lose the suit.”

  Venom smiled, displaying the canines she’d seen weep poison, his face at once starkly beautiful and unalterably alien. He’d not only lost the suit, he was dressed only in a pair of flowing black pants that shifted like liquid as he moved, his body as sinuous as the snake that looked at her out of those eyes.

  And that body . . . yeah, it was definitely worth a second look. But she was more concerned at the ease with which he played with the foot-length curved knives in his hands. They reminded her almost of some short swords she’d seen, but they were a little too short, a little too curved. Not sickle-curved, but more of a soft, smooth flow. Blades meant for lethal grace.