by Nalini Singh
“I have served my lady for most of my nine hundred years on this earth,” Xi said after another member of his squadron tied her ankles together. “You know nothing of her. Your task is to record, not to judge.”
Andromeda inclined her head because in this, he was right. “But,” she added, “some small judgment is required when we record the histories. We must often search for the truth amid grandiose claims, outright lies, and everything in between.”
That, Jessamy had taught her, was why they so often put competing reports into the official history. Both Xi’s and Illium’s reports lay within the pages to do with the battle in New York, along with an overview written by Jessamy after she’d read, watched, and listened to all records of the battle. “If we record blindly, we are little better than machines.”
“As I make no untrue claims in my reports,” Xi responded, “you have nothing to say to me on that point.” His fingers gripped her chin without warning, the hold firm but not painful. “I will give you one piece of advice, scholar.”
Able to feel his power crashing against her, though it was more muted than she’d previously felt near Xi—testament to the statement in Illium’s report that Lijuan fed her generals power—Andromeda went motionless.
“Do as you are told,” Xi said in his cool, refined tone, “and you will not be harmed.” He released her chin. “Unlike your grandsire, my lady has a soft spot for scholars.”
“I appreciate the advice.” It wasn’t a lie. Xi’s statement told her how she could play this until the opportunity rose to escape—because she didn’t have the same faith in Lijuan as Xi. Badly injured angels were like any other injured creatures in their pain and frustration. They could strike out without warning.
The fact Lijuan had been unstable prior to her injuries only made the situation more volatile. Add in the fact that she was an archangel . . . No, Andromeda would never survive a confrontation should she anger Lijuan. No matter what she saw or heard or experienced, she had to act the meek scholar who was out of her depth.
Xi barked out an order at that instant and Andromeda found herself lifted up unceremoniously into a sling formed of the net. They did her the courtesy of allowing her to lie on her side this time, ensuring her wings weren’t crushed, but the netting dug into her flesh nonetheless. As the salt wind whistled past her on takeoff, she found herself thinking of the wild creature with whom she’d sparred under lamplight.
Never had she fought with anyone who moved like Naasir. She wanted to do it again, wanted to watch his eyes flash in the darkness and that slow, dangerous smile wreath his face as he took open pleasure in the dance. There was something fascinating about the vampire who was not a vampire . . . fascinating and dangerous.
Andromeda wanted to escape for many reasons, but chief among them was the driving compulsion to dance with him again, to fly too close to the flame that, for the first time in her existence, made her question the rigid control and sensual discipline that defined her.
A vow of celibacy was easy to hold when there was no temptation.
8
Elena winced as she continued to hold the hover off the Tower roof, her mind going over her earlier conversation with a coldly furious Raphael.
“If Lijuan succeeds in tracking down and killing Alexander, it’ll fracture angelkind at the core. In all our millennia of existence, such a crime has never been committed.”
Elena didn’t need her archangel to tell her that the fracture would lead to chaos and all-out war. Some would follow in Lijuan’s twisted footsteps, while others would battle against it. Hundreds of thousands—millions—of mortals and immortals both would die, the world forever scarred.
“Stupid Cascade,” she muttered on a huff of breath, sweat pasting her T-shirt to her skin.
“Did you say something, Ellie?” Aodhan asked from beside her, his mist-pale and diamond-bright hair glittering like faceted gemstones in the afternoon sunlight, and his extraordinary eyes of blue and green shards shattered outward from the pupil, afire.
Next to him, Elena’s own near-white hair was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Cursing the Cascade,” she got out, her muscles straining. “Shit—I think I’m at my limit.” She dropped down to the closest balcony. “How did I do?” she asked when Aodhan landed beside her.
His feathers caught the light, sending bright sparks in every direction.
“Two minutes longer than in our last test.” Aodhan, his body having healed fully from his grievous battle injuries, pushed back the sleeves of his shirt. “You passed.”
“I feel like I did on my first day at Guild Academy.” Stretching out her stiff muscles, she took a seat on the edge of the balcony. “I need to get stronger.” War boiled on the horizon—if not this year, then soon, and she had to be strong enough to fight at Raphael’s side.
Aodhan took a seat next to her, his wings carefully folded to ensure they wouldn’t touch hers. “There are some things you can’t control. Like a child who grows to his adult strength, you have to grow into your immortality.”
Elena knew that. It infuriated her. Taking out a throwing blade she’d honed to a deadly edge, she played it over and through her fingers in an effort to channel her frustration, and looked out at the city that no longer bore any scars of battle. It had taken brutally hard work to achieve that, but as the center of Raphael’s territory, New York had to show an undaunted face to the world.
“I’m worried about Naasir.” Alone, he was a ghost no one could catch, but if all went well, he wouldn’t be alone on his way out. He’d be shepherding a scholar. It didn’t matter if the scholar had warrior training—no one, and Elena included herself among that number, could move with as much stealth as the silver-eyed maybe-vampire who refused to tell her his origins, and who’d dug his way into her heart.
“I’ve learned never to underestimate him.” Aodhan leaned forward, his forearms braced on his thighs and his gaze on the waters of the East River, the Hudson not visible from their current position. “Have you noticed the changes in Illium?”
“Hard to miss.” The blue-winged angel’s power had escalated in the months after the battle, until it burned in the gold of his eyes and pulsed in his skin.
He still teased Aodhan as wickedly, insisting on calling him Sparkle, still made Elena laugh with his open and unrepentant flirtation, but he was also growing away from them and it hurt. She couldn’t bear to think of a New York without Illium, because while she respected all of the Seven, her relationship with Illium was different.
He’d been the first one she’d truly come to know, his humor and wit critical in helping her adjust to this new life. Even among the Seven, he seemed to hold a special place: no one was ever angry at Bluebell. The idea that power might change him, chill that joyous heart was even worse than the thought of losing him to it.
“He’s too young.” Aodhan’s voice was quiet, his left hand fisting on his thigh. “Like you can’t do certain things, he isn’t physically old enough to control that much power.”
Stomach knotting, Elena turned to look at Aodhan’s flawless profile, his skin not white or cream but something other, alabaster kissed by sunshine. “The Cascade?”
A nod. “The sire believes it’s accelerating Illium’s natural development—only his body isn’t catching up.”
She gripped the edges of the balcony so hard her bones pressed up white against the dark gold skin she’d inherited from her Moroccan grandmother. “Is there anything we can do?”
Aodhan shook his head, the movement scattering shards of light in a brilliant, unexpected rain. “No one can stop the growth of an angel.”
Ice cracking her heart, Elena went straight into Raphael’s arms when he returned home from an offshore drill. “Why didn’t you tell me about Illium?”
“Because he is your favorite and you would worry when there is nothing to be done.” Wings of white gold licked with the cool flame that appeared and disappeared without warning, wrapped around her. “Your Bluebe
ll’s development can’t be halted.”
“Could he become an archangel?”
“One day far in the future, yes. If he ascends now . . . he’s not ready.” Raphael held her tight, his voice taut with a hard thread of unvarnished emotion as he said, “Illium’s body will break apart from the power overload and he’s not old enough to survive such total annihilation.”
Elena wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and wipe away the horrific image. And if she felt that way, she couldn’t imagine her archangel’s grim anger and concern. He’d known Illium since Illium was a boy, and Illium’s mother, Sharine—known among angelkind as the Hummingbird—held a special place in his powerful heart. That heart knew how to love, how to be loyal.
“What the hell is happening, Raphael?” she said, holding him as tightly as he was holding her. “One of our friends is heading right into the heart of that crazy bitch’s territory, and another is on the verge of a catastrophic change.”
Raphael’s voice crashed into her mind, the bright sea and cold kiss of it intimately familiar. The Cascade has no allegiance and it chooses no sides. No one is safe.
9
Naasir crossed the border into Lijuan’s territory just before dawn the next morning. He’d done it many times. Then, his task had been to take the temperature of the land, discern the mood of her people. He’d prowled in the shadows of villages and cities and he’d listened, then reported back.
Today, he was racing against time through a landscape lashed with the brilliant colors of fall. If Xi’s squadron had flown straight from the Refuge to the citadel, Andromeda had already been in Lijuan’s clutches for at least twelve hours.
Naasir didn’t think she’d survive much longer than another forty-eight at most. She was a warrior and a scholar, but she wasn’t sneaky. Okay, maybe a little sneaky since she’d fooled him with her civilized skin, but not deep-down sneaky—Naasir wasn’t sure she’d be able to mislead Lijuan long enough for Naasir to get to her.
Because one thing he knew: Andromeda would not betray what she knew about Alexander. Others might doubt her allegiance because of her bloodline, but he’d seen the truth of her as he held her pinned to the earth. Her honor was an indelible part of her, embedded into her true skin in a way nothing could erase.
Winter storms and lightning.
He changed direction at the scent in the air, running through the long grasses without bothering to lower his body. The sun hadn’t yet risen, the light dim and gray. Even had it been noon, no one saw Naasir in the grasses when he didn’t want to be seen. He was a shadow, a striped mirage. The angel who waited for him beneath the spreading branches of a large tree dressed in leaves of scarlet and gold was another kind of shadow.
Wings of black held tight to his back and his body motionless, Naasir wouldn’t have seen Jason if he hadn’t caught his scent. He approved. To him, the spymaster had always been one of the most dangerous members of the Seven. It caused Naasir no surprise that Jason had found him. As Naasir could track by scent, Jason had methods of his own.
“You’ll help me find Andromeda?” he asked on reaching the black-winged angel, because if Jason had another task, Naasir couldn’t assist, not today.
But Jason nodded, his tattoo bared by the neat way he’d pulled his hair into a queue at his nape. Naasir had gone with Jason on one of Jason’s trips to the Pacific Island home of the artist who’d done the work. Jason had walked alone for a long time, but sometimes he didn’t seem to mind a curious Naasir tagging along.
Naasir felt the same way about pain as he did about cold: he could bear it, but he didn’t choose it. However, he understood Jason’s choice to go through the grueling process that meant the tattoo would “stick” to his immortal skin. The tattoo was like Naasir’s stripes—an acknowledgment of the wildness inside Jason.
Now, Jason spread out the midnight of his wings to stretch them, then folded them back in, the smooth motion a wave of silent darkness. He was the only angel Naasir knew who could, when he wished, move his wings with zero sound. No susurration, no rustle, nothing but pure silence.
“I’ve confirmed the scholar has been taken to Lijuan’s central citadel.”
Naasir bit back a harsh, nonhuman sound at Jason’s words. He had no argument with the spymaster’s intelligence—Jason was never wrong about things like this. It was the idea of Andromeda shut up with Lijuan’s ugliness that made his claws emerge, the curved blades gleaming even in the murky light. “Can you get her out?” he asked, because getting Andromeda to safety was the important thing, not who did it, and the skyroad was faster than the ground.
Jason shook his head. “Not alone. Also, the fact she doesn’t know me could cause a dangerous delay.”
“Then we go in together, get her out.”
“You’ll need to practice patience for this, Naasir.” Jason closed the short distance between them. “I know you can get in, but we have to get in and out with her without being seen and without alerting her guards.”
“You’re strong. You can kill them.” He’d seen Jason’s black fire ignite the sky. “I’ll help you.” Naasir could fight many men at once.
“We’re not strong enough to defeat the sheer number of troops stationed in and around the citadel.” Jason’s voice was quiet but hard, demanding attention. “You must use the primal part of your nature in this. You must be cunning and stealthy and unseen.”
Naasir flexed his fingers and thought about what Jason had said. “Can I kill some of them?” They had taken—and probably scared, maybe hurt—someone in his care; he wanted to mete out punishment.
“Only if it won’t lead to us being exposed.”
Forcing his claws back in, he stared at Jason. “All right,” he said at last, trusting Jason’s advice because Jason was one of his family and had stood with Naasir whenever it was necessary. “I can get in—but if I’m to get Andromeda out without Xi’s forces being aware of it, you need to tell me the layout of the citadel.”
Jason pulled out a map from a pocket, unfolded it.
For the next ten minutes, Naasir contained his impatience and listened and learned. He was smart. Dmitri had told him that as a child when he’d refused to go to Jessamy’s school; the older vampire had found him sitting atop a high shelf in the stronghold library, arms folded and face set.
He’d pretended he was being stubborn because he didn’t want to go, but really, he hadn’t known how to be like the other children, how to understand the words he’d seen Jessamy write on the board when he’d snuck over there to peek through the windows.
“You’re clever,” Dmitri had said, hunkering down in front of him after ordering him down. “You have more smarts than many an adult.”
“Then why do I need to study?”
“Because it’ll give you another weapon.” Dmitri’s dark eyes hadn’t moved from his, the fact he was a far more dangerous predator calming to Naasir. No one could harm him or make him do bad things while he was in a family with Raphael and Dmitri.
“Else,” Dmitri had continued, “others will be able to do things behind your back, have secrets you can’t unravel.”
Naasir hated the idea of being shut out, so he’d gone to school. It had been difficult for him to stay still for long periods, but Jessamy hadn’t thrown him out, even when he climbed the wall to cling to the ceiling. She’d smiled instead and continued to teach and he’d learned his words. He’d even learned sums. And somewhere along the way, he’d made friends who liked to do wild, naughty things with him.
One parent had been so angry at a game he’d taught her son that she’d marched in and demanded “the savage brat” be removed from the school. Naasir had gone quiet that day. Dmitri wasn’t there to protect him and the angel who’d marched to the school was powerful, much more powerful than thin, breakable Jessamy.
He’d been ready to claw the powerful angel if she dared hurt his gentle teacher, but to his shock, he’d seen Jessamy face down the other woman without once raising her voice. That was when he�
��d understood two fascinating things:
One—Jessamy didn’t just tolerate him, she was willing to fight for him; she liked him.
Two—sometimes, you could win a fight without claws.
Today, it was the latter lesson that he kept at the forefront of his mind. “What if Andromeda is being held in one of these places?” He pointed out what Jason said was the central throne room, as well as several other public areas.
“You wait.” Jason put away the map after confirming Naasir had memorized it. “Even if she’s being hurt, even if she’s screaming and begging, you wait.”
Naasir’s claws wanted to release again. “Would you wait if your princess was being hurt?” Naasir didn’t yet know Jason’s mate well, but he’d danced with her during a dinner at Elena and Raphael’s home. She was young and sweet and not at all dangerous. Because he respected Jason, Naasir had been very careful not to scare her.
Jason’s expression was unreadable, but Naasir had known him for centuries, felt the storm crackling in the air. “If I knew that to rush in would equal further torture for her, yes,” Jason said at last. “If you go in, you’ll die or be taken hostage. Lijuan will use you to make her talk, or to take revenge against Raphael. Either way, you’ll be useless to Andromeda. So you wait. Even if she bleeds.”
Naasir flexed and unflexed his hands, a growl rumbling in his chest. “I want to hurt you right now.”
“You know I speak the truth.”
He forced himself to nod. “I’ll wait.” Because Jason was clever, too. Very, very clever. He’d been in and out of Lijuan’s citadel without the archangel ever being the wiser. “Where will you be?”
“I’ll go in with you and do whatever’s necessary to divert attention from your escape route. You have a phone?” At Naasir’s nod, he said, “Message me after you learn her location so I can cause a distraction away from it. And tell Andromeda not to fly once you’re out—the sky is too heavily guarded.”