by Nalini Singh
Stunned at the openness with which he’d referred to his emotional scars, she went with her gut. “We’re all allowed time to curl up and recover from shock or hurt. But if it goes on too long, it begins to eat away at you.” Elena knew that from experience, her angry pain where Jeffrey was concerned having left her with indelible scars of her own. “It’s better to face the pain, neutralize the acid of the memories.”
“And if that fails? If I fall again?”
“You will,” she said, because the truth was a far better weapon against the darkness than any false hope. “Over and over. Sometimes, it’ll get so brutal that curling up and hiding again will seem the better choice.” She thought of the way she’d wanted to shut down in the aftermath of the nightmare in Amanat, of the exhilarating, hot-blooded knife fight that had followed. “Don’t give in, Aodhan, because you can’t imagine the glory that waits on the other side. Fight to see it; fight to own it.”
His responding words held an undertone of heart-piercing joy she’d never before heard from him. “It was worth the risk to play a game with my friend again,” he said, the diamond-coated strands of his hair brushing against his cheekbone in the gentle wind. “Until I threw that ball at Illium over the river, I didn’t understand I hadn’t felt alive for over two hundred years.”
A companionable silence fell between them for the next few minutes, until Aodhan said, “You searched me out on purpose?”
“Yes. I wanted to ask you something.” Her eyes on his profile, his skin—alabaster lovingly caressed with fine gold—flawless. “Does Vivek belong to you? Since you Made him?”
Shaking his head, he said, “All vampires belong to the archangel in the territory where the vampire is Made. Supervisors are chosen from among the senior angels.”
Damn. “So I’m too young to supervise a vampire?”
“In ordinary circumstances, yes; a new-Made vampire can sometimes be violent, difficult to control, and you are weak in angelic terms. Vivek Kapur, however,” he said, making it clear he understood why they were having this discussion, “won’t come into his full physical strength for some time and you have Raphael’s resources at your command.”
“So it’s doable?”
“It is done.” He held her gaze. “You understand you’ll be responsible for the hundred years he has Contracted to serve—and that service must be completed.”
“I know. It’ll breed resentment otherwise.” As far as Elena knew, Dmitri’s wife, Honor, was the sole exception to the Contract rule in Raphael’s territory, and it was an exception not a single immortal would ever question. Dmitri had, after all, been Raphael’s loyal second for a thousand years and counting, had spilled his own blood countless times in defense of his archangel.
“What are your plans for the term of his Contract?” Aodhan asked.
“He’ll be with Tower communications as discussed, but as soon as he regains use of his limbs, I plan to put him in training at Guild Academy.” It was what Vivek had decided on when they’d discussed things prior to his Making; a man didn’t need to be physically strong to become a lethal shot. Vivek planned to practice his shooting skills while building up muscle. “In the meantime, he’ll be attending intensive lessons at the Academy to bone up on areas of practical knowledge he didn’t need in his previous position.”
“That won’t be enough,” Aodhan said, just as she glimpsed wings of distinctive silver-blue changing course to head toward them. “He must be seen to be in your service.”
“The training will be to ready him for a position in my Guard.” That wasn’t something she’d known to offer Vivek before, but it seemed the perfect solution. Still, Elena had no intention of forcing the decision on her fellow hunter; Vivek had already had too many choices taken from him. “I trust him down to the bone and he’s already saved my life more times than I can count.”
“Good,” Aodhan said slowly. “Once your intent becomes known, it’ll be assumed he was Made to serve in your Guard, explaining the extraordinary effort expended on his behalf.”
Illium arrived before she could respond, landing to grab a seat beside Aodhan. “Why are we sitting on a bridge presenting postcard shots to the tourists on that boat?” he asked, waving at said tourists, who jumped up and down, their squeals carrying on the winds.
“No one noticed us until you deliberately did a low flyby over that same boat,” Aodhan pointed out.
“Wave to the nice tourists, Sparkle. I promise it won’t cause pestilence and firestorms.”
Elena bit the inside of her cheek at Aodhan’s glare—she’d never seen anyone crack his reserved shell. “Sparkle and Bluebell, nice.”
“Never,” Aodhan said, hands stubbornly on the girder, “ever repeat that. Illium seems to have forgotten I promised to separate his tongue from his mouth should he utter it again in his immortal lifetime.”
“You have to catch me first,” Illium taunted . . . and fell backward over the edge of the bridge tower.
“Illium!” Elena cried out as he tumbled toward the heavy traffic, his wings tangled.
“He’s playing a trick,” Aodhan said calmly. “He used to do that to his mother all the time, until one day, she did it back to him. I do not think I have ever seen Illium so chastised and white.”
“No, Aodhan, he’s falling too fast.” Heart in her throat, Elena twisted in desperate readiness to take off, try to help . . . except it was too late: Illium was about to be crushed between two trucks. “No!”
Silver-blue wings snapping out at unbelievable speed, his nimbleness on astonishing display. “Ellie”—wicked laughter in the gold when he flew back up—“you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I am not talking to you.” Breathless from the fright, she spoke to Aodhan instead. “I’m going to tell the Hummingbird he’s been up to his old tricks.”
Aodhan’s lips kicked up in the slightest, slightest smile.
“Hey! Wait!” Illium tried to get into her line of sight. “Don’t tell Mother. I promise I—”
Elena’s phone rang right in the middle of Illium’s plea for mercy. “Sara, I—” she began, wanting to share the good news about Vivek.
Her best friend cut in, tone stark. “Ashwini spotted a sick vampire in the Port Jersey container terminal. She thinks she can corral him, but she’ll need the Tower to take him off her hands.”
Elena’s blood turned to ice. “We’re on our way.”
28
Ashwini was bleeding badly from cuts on her arms and scratches on her face when Elena arrived with Aodhan and Illium. “Sick vamp didn’t touch me,” she said, before Elena could ask. “Cuts are from before—the retrieval I have immobilized in the car. Idiot male had nails like fucking knives and I was stupid enough to get too close.” She nodded down the row of shipping containers. “Your vamp is in there. I managed to herd him into a dead end.”
Elena went in with Illium and Aodhan, while Ash watched their backs, in case there was more than a single infected vampire in the area.
“Don’t touch him,” she said to the others when they spotted the vamp, who was indeed mobile. “One thing to believe we can’t be infected, another to know.”
The vamp had seen them, too, was trying to shuffle-run across the wide space, his fingers in a rigid clawed position and his eyes red. The pustules on his face had burst, the ones on his arms infected.
“Stop!” she called out.
No response, the vampire continuing to close the distance between them.
Taking her lightweight crossbow from where she’d strapped it to her thigh, she took aim at the vampire’s left leg. He didn’t even hesitate, leaving her no choice but to fire.
The shot was clean, the vampire going down with a high-pitched scream that just sounded wrong. Her gut roiled at his agony, though she knew the wound would heal within hours. “Keir said a live victim might help him better understand the disease.”
“I’ll arrange a retrieval team in suitable biohazard gear, then contact the healer.” Aodh
an lifted off in a whisper of sound.
The vampire continued to scream as if hot pokers were being driven into his flesh. “This isn’t right.” The fact that his suffering might help save the lives of others didn’t make it seem any less like torture. And that was a line she would never cross. “We have to end—”
“No.” Illium retrieved his sword, Lightning, from the sheath on his back. “He is not in such pain. The location of the injury means it hurts going in, but it’s only a dull pulse once the bolt is embedded.” Striding forward, he put the tip of his sword on the vampire’s chest while staying out of reach of the creature’s torn, bloodied fingernails. “Quiet.”
The vampire froze.
Crossbow raised to cover Illium, Elena walked close enough to look into the vampire’s face, and what she saw made pity rain in her veins. “You want to die.” Those bloody eyes held a glimmer of true consciousness, enough that this vampire understood what was happening to him even though he couldn’t stop it.
“Can’t kill,” the vampire said, a tear rolling down his face, the liquid pinky red. “Can’t kill.”
Can’t kill?
“Did you try to kill yourself?” she asked, but he was gone, febrile madness crawling over his eyes to leave him clawing out chunks of his own face.
“I can’t watch this.” Not wanting to end the vampire’s life when Keir might be able to help him, she took a gun and flipped it, intending to knock him out with a tap to the head.
“Wait.” Illium stared at the vampire, his eyes burning true gold . . . and the sick male stopped writhing, his hands falling to the sides and absolute peace in his expression as his lashes closed.
Elena looked at Illium with new eyes. He was, she realized, not just powerful. He was becoming a power.
“Why are you looking at me like that, Ellie?” Sliding away his sword, darkness in the gold. “You’re afraid.”
“Not of you. I just realized you might one day leave the Seven.” No one as powerful as she suspected Illium would eventually become would want to be in service to another—if that was even a choice. “I can’t imagine you not being a part of this city, of my life.”
“It’s not going to happen anytime soon.” A dazzling smile that erased the shadows, his wings spreading to brush her own before he folded them back in. “Forget the coming war, the Tower would fall down without me.”
“So modest.” Her smile faded as her eyes landed on the vampire, who slept so peacefully and who she knew would probably never wake, though she hoped Keir could save him. “What does it say about the archangel behind this, that he has the ability to create disease?”
“You know the answer to that.”
Yes, unfortunately, she did. Power corrupted, and often the corruption was absolute and ugly.
Glancing at the angel, beautiful and gifted, who crouched down to more closely examine the victim, his wings a carpet of exquisite blue and silver on the concrete, she hoped that when the time came, when his power matured to its full strength, he’d have someone who’d act as his anchor, as she and Raphael did for one another. She couldn’t bear to think of Illium corrupted. Not Illium.
* * *
The vampire died twelve hours later, having never wakened from his sleep. “It was a blessing,” Keir said, before he left the city—the healer had arrived in time to examine the victim while he lived. “The disease had eaten its way into his internal organs, would’ve caused him excruciating pain had he been conscious.”
Keir’s tests had also shown the male had had a genetic abnormality that made him less susceptible to the virus, though, as they’d seen, not immune. As to how he’d been infected, that was unknown. However, interestingly, he’d just returned to the country after a business trip to China.
“If we’re wrong and it is Lijuan,” Raphael said to Illium as they flew back after escorting Keir to the jet, “then she’s gaining strength at a pace far beyond that of anyone else in the Cadre.” It could well make her invincible.
Illium held position, wing to wing. “It’s possible she could simply have facilitated the infection by offering safe passage through her lands to her coconspirator.”
“Not a great scenario, death and disease acting in concert, but better than Lijuan being the sole holder of such vicious ‘gifts.’”
Snow started to fall again around them, the world below dusted in innocence and peace, but the illusion didn’t last. Early the next day, a plane bound for New York, its point of origin Shanghai, made an emergency medical landing in San Francisco, the human pilot sending a request for Tower assistance through air traffic control.
To the mortal pilot’s credit, he refused to permit anyone else aboard the plane until the arrival of the Tower team, his actions containing the disease within the steel belly of the aircraft. All seventeen vampires on board proved to be sick, their bodies grotesquely contorted, sores on their faces.
The humans were placed in isolation for forty-eight hours, then released after a thorough check showed no signs of infection, while the vampires went into strict medical quarantine.
Five days later, they began to recover—and according to Keir, all now had an immunity to the disease. It was the first good news they’d had. “Our enemy became impatient and overreached,” Raphael said to Elena that morning, the two of them going through different martial arts routines on the lawn of the Enclave house. “Keir now believes we may have the ability to create a vaccine, though it’ll take considerable time.”
“That’s some good news, at least.” Elena completed her kata and picked up a small towel to wipe the sweat off her face, the sun shining this morning, though the snow hadn’t melted. “What about vampiric travel?”
“Highly restricted.” Raphael’s expression was that of the archangel he was—cold and resolute. “News has begun to spread of the disease and most vampires are voluntarily restricting themselves. Anyone who attempts to defy the order will be dealt with.”
“Good.” She knew it had to frustrate those vampires who needed to travel for business or other professional commitments, but it wasn’t only their lives at stake. “If that vamp pilot hadn’t been hit by a car and replaced an hour before takeoff, this could’ve been a far bigger disaster.” Going to stand in front of her archangel as he finished his own exercises, she placed her hands on the warmth of his skin, his upper body bare.
“At any other time,” Raphael said, eyes furious, “I would launch a preemptive strike to halt any further sneak assaults, but with my forces decimated, the only option is to intensify our defensive position. We simply do not have enough people to protect the city and launch an attack at the same time.”
Wrapping her arms around him, Elena leaned into his body, the heat of his fury far more welcome to her than the strange cold after the river ran with blood. “I’m going to see the injured angels after breakfast.” She held on tighter. “Being around you and the Seven, I’d begun to get a distorted idea of how quickly angels healed—and I didn’t understand just how bad the side effects of that drug could be.” The men and women in the infirmary were growing back their torn-off limbs and ravaged organs a literal inch at a time, their pain so excruciating, it drove many to tears.
Her own eyes burned as she said, “Izak was sobbing when I arrived yesterday, and he was so ashamed I’d seen him like that.” A knot in her throat she had to swallow repeatedly to speak around. “I told him there’s no shame in acknowledging pain, that I’ve cried when I’ve been hurt and been no less strong for it, but I don’t know if he believed me.”
Raphael ran his hand over her hair. “He’s a young boy at heart still and he adores you.” A kiss against her temple. “Speak to him about what he’ll have to do to prepare to be in your Guard. It’ll give him the reassurance he needs.”
“Should I tell him he’s about to be thrown into training with Dmitri and Illium? It might scare him.” Izak was a baby in comparison to the lethal men in the Seven.
“He may feel fear, but if my judgment of him is
correct, it’ll also give him the impetus to fight through the agony to come so he can prove his claim to the position.”
Raphael’s prediction turned out to be right on the money. Izak went sheet white when she told him exactly how tough he’d have to become now that he was part of her Guard . . . then he took a deep breath and gave her an unexpectedly solemn, adult look. “Thank you. I thought perhaps you’d only agreed to offer me the position because you felt sorry for me.”
“I’m saving up the pity for when Galen arrives to take over your training.”
He winced. “I was hoping he’d remain at the Refuge.”
“If he does, you’ll be shipped there.” Forcing herself not to look at the raw red of his wounds, she kissed him on the forehead. “I’m sure he won’t beat you black-and-blue every day.”
“Ellie, I didn’t know you were so mean.”
Leaving him with a scowl on his face and a smile in his eyes, she visited with the others, all of whom she’d begun to know on a personal basis. It was hard, seeing so much hurt done to people who now belonged to her, but if they could bear the unfathomable pain, she could bear to stand with them through the journey.
When she finished speaking to the final conscious angel, she had an informal visit with an active squadron, then checked to see if her sister, Beth, had canceled their appointment. No. Taking a deep breath and aware there were no more excuses, she swept off the Tower to fly to a storage locker in Brooklyn. She hadn’t been there in weeks, not given everything that had been happening in the city . . . No, that had nothing to do with it; the truth was, she’d been avoiding it even before the Falling.
As she landed, she didn’t understand the reason for her resistance when she’d been so painfully happy to find Jeffrey hadn’t thrown out her mother’s belongings after all. She didn’t even know why she continued to keep everything in storage when there was plenty of space at the house for it. She hadn’t even taken the precious quilt her mother had stitched by hand.