Archangel's Legion: A Guild Hunter Novel

by Nalini Singh

  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.”

  “You know, that Charisemnon guy always wigged me out. Now I know why.” Folding her arms, she met his gaze. “I’ve asked Sara to make me inactive on the Guild roster for the time being. Tell me what you need me to do to help you ready the city for an assault.”

  35

  He cupped her jaw, proud of the woman who was his own, who didn’t flinch from standing by his side, come what may. “Talk to the vampire leaders, have them contain the panic within the groups to which they have access. We can’t afford any more impromptu executions.”

  Elena scowled. “Talk? I figured you’d want me working with the ground troops or something.”

  “Talk—not as a hunter, but as my consort.” Dropping his hand from her jaw, he wrapped his arm around her waist in readiness for takeoff. “Your presence will make the seriousness of the request apparent without further orders on my part.”

  “I suppose I can dig up some civilized-but-scary manners.” A kiss on the mouth as they rose into the air, the taste of her lush intoxication. “I don’t know absolutely all of the vamp leaders. Does the Tower have a list?”

  “Illium’ll go with you. He knows each by name.”

  “Wouldn’t he be the better option to talk to them?”

  “Before I had a consort, yes. Now, you speak with my voice.”

  That ring of silver bright under the winter sunlight, her expression suddenly solemn. “I won’t let you down.”

  “I know.”

  Ten minutes later, he watched her take to the skies with Illium. Do not allow her to come to harm.

  I’ll protect her with my blade and my life.

  Shifting his attention from the midnight and dawn of Elena’s wings on the strength of Illium’s promise, he picked up the phone. It was time for his second to return to New York.

  • • •

  Raphael spent the rest of the day finalizing the transfer of his senior vampires and angels into the city, while Aodhan handled daily Tower operations and Dmitri—linking in from the jet Raphael had sent for him and Honor—worked with his trusted people to ensure their permitted weapons reserves were at maximum. The next step would be to place anti-wing guns on a number of rooftops.

  “We’ll do it in the short lull after the late revelers head home and the early risers are yet asleep,” Illium told him, the lights of a night-cloaked Manhattan glittering at his back as the two of them stood at the apex of the Tower. “Better the guns appear overnight than to have the curious watching and broadcasting our efforts in the daytime.”

  “Agreed.” Raphael’s city never truly slept, but it was quietest in those twilight hours. “Do you have enough people to get it done within that time frame?”

  “Yes. Aodhan can also assist now that Dmitri has returned to take over Tower operations.” A steady glance from golden eyes shadowed by thick black lashes dipped in blue. “Sire, you can’t be here.”

  When Raphael raised an eyebrow, Illium stood his ground. “Forget the enemy, the morale of our own troops will take a severe hit if you’re seen to be assisting in such a ‘mundane’ task.”

  Raphael knew the angel was right. “The task is yours,” he said, and spent the next hour drilling a specialized night-maneuvers squadron before heading home.

  His consort was in her solar, cleaning her weapons with a single-minded focus that told him she wasn’t seeing the lethal items at all. Taking a seat across from her, he picked up a cut-glass tumbler and poured himself a drink from the decanter she kept for him, a silent invitation into her inner sanctum. “Illium tells me you charmed the vampire leaders.” Whatever she’d done, the effect had been immediate, the city calmer, vampires on their best behavior.

  She snorted. “Illium did the charming. I talked business—vamp leaders are all about that—and rampaging vampires are bad for it. We came to an understanding.” Lashes flicking up, humor in the gray. “I may have channeled you at your politest and scariest, to drive home the point that you’d be very, very disappointed should they fail in their task.”

  Lips curving, he took another sip. “You are proving to be a most efficient consort, Guild Hunter.”

  “Don’t you forget it.” A dagger pointed at him to underscore her command, before she went back to her cleaning.

  “Is it your father’s revelation that occupies your mind?”

  A nod. “I had a bit of time before you got home, so I logged into the Tower’s information network from here.”

  “Did you find her?”

  “Yes—the facts weren’t hidden. I just didn’t know to look for them before.” Fingers clenching on the dagger, Elena met eyes of pitiless blue that watched her with an intense patience that told her she mattered. “Her name was Elizabeth Parker.” Her heart pounded in sympathetic memory of the stunned shock she’d felt at the discovery. “Belle and Ari were his firstborn, but he didn’t give them her names, just me and Beth.”

  Elieanora Parker Deveraux and Elizabeth Marguerite Deveraux.

  Releasing and setting the dagger aside when her fingers began going numb, she dropped her head in her hands. “It’s almost as if it took him that long to trust in the happiness he’d found, have enough faith to open the door a fraction to his past.” Only for the horror to be repeated. “God, Raphael, no wonder he’s so damn fucked up.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  It was exactly the question she needed to hear. Somehow, she had to find a way to come to terms with a fundamental change in the fabric of her history, her vision of her father altered in a way she was having difficulty comprehending. And even though she knew Raphael had no sympathy for Jeffrey after what her father had done to her, he listened as she released the torrent of words and questions and confusion.

  Hours later, when she’d emptied it all from inside her head and could think again, he took her to bed and held her safe from the nightmares, his wing spread over her body in a heaviness of silken warmth that made her feel safer than any weapon.

  • • •

  Raphael decided to rest in truth this night, his hunter’s skin warm against his own. She’d talked herself out and, in so doing, come to a kind of peace with the ghost of a woman she’d never met, but who’d thrown a shadow across her entire existence.

  “Elizabeth Parker,” she’d said quietly at the end. “She’s a part of me and I’m glad I know that.”

  Now, she lay tucked trustingly against him, her wings tangled around his body in the way of angelic lovers, his own acting as her blanket. Only when he was certain she’d fallen into a deep, nightmare-free sleep did he press a kiss to the warm curve of her neck and close his eyes.

  He dreamed again of that forgotten field, and of a woman’s bare feet as light as air on the ruby-flecked grass, his mother walking away from him after he fell to the earth, his body bloodied and bones broken.

  Except . . .

  He stood able-bodied on that field—and it was the same field, on the same day. He’d never forget the breathtaking clarity of the sky; the way the dew sparkled as if a careless hand had spilled a thousand translucent gemstones on the lush green blades; the distinctive patterns of light and shadow formed by the blossoming tree to the right; the tiny insect that crawled painstakingly across the grass, food held in its pincers.

  He’d watched that insect for what felt like hours as it made its way across the field. When the food slipped out of its pincers, it would stop, pick it up again, and restart its journey. Lying broken on the grass Raphael had thought of himself as an insect, too, an insignificant, discarded piece of angelic flotsam beneath an endless sky.

  Today, he could step on that insect without thought, ending its existence and struggle, but he took care to walk around it, the clear morning sunlight a cool brightness on his face, the slight wind adding to the sense that dawn had just br
oken. Tilting back his head, he saw nothing in the sheet of blue above . . . no, there was his mother. Though he stood in the wrong place, his view was the same as on that fateful day—when he’d watched her from a hidden vantage point, needing to see her free and beautiful just once more before he sought to bring her down, end her life.

  She’d caused the death of every adult in two thriving cities, creating a silence painful and eternal. The survivors had all been children, little ones so bruised in the heart that they’d curled up and died of terrible sorrow, hundreds upon hundreds of tiny lives snuffed out without ever being given the chance to truly burn.

  He’d known all that, understood she needed to be stopped, but she’d still been the mother who’d once sung him such lullabies that the Refuge stood silent to hear her. So he’d taken that single moment to watch her, to remember who she’d been before the madness sucked her under.

  Graceful and strong, her wings backlit by the sun, she flew above him . . . but now there was a cloud across the sun. That wasn’t right. There had been no clouds that day, the sun a burning orb that baked his spilled blood to crystalline hardness and threatened to boil him alive from the inside out.

  The clouds grew darker and darker, until they blotted out the sun. And his mother, she was gone. All he could see was a thick blanket of featureless gray. Beneath his feet, the verdant grass had turned brown, the insect a carcass. And the wind, it blew cool across his face, but it wasn’t fresh.

  It tasted old.

  There was no scent of putrefaction or of death, simply a sense of unfathomable age, of dark, hidden places full of secrets and whispers. Breathing it in, he continued to walk across the field, for someone was waiting for him. He was halfway across the dried-up landscape—so old, this place—when he saw that dawn had come . . . no, that was Elena’s wing arcing over him as she folded it away to reveal the skylight above their bed, the world outside the hazy formless gray of the time just before true daybreak.