Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter series Book 7)

by Singh, Nalini

  Elena was wonderfully astonished at the idea of a high-rise turned into a giant greenhouse, its interior a branching tree through which a winged being could weave all the way to the ceiling. She crossed her fingers that Maeve would be able to come up with a solution.

  “We might as well start on the top three floors, then,” she said, after a glance at the Primary to see if he agreed. “Maeve, I know plants, but the building’s going to be your ball game.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Leaving the other woman to talk to her team, Elena took the Primary to a gardening supplies warehouse, where she organized delivery of pots, soil, freestanding grow lights, and other items. Their next stop was a commercial greenhouse.

  Two hours later, enough plants and supplies had been delivered that she put the Legion to work. It would take time for the modifications to the top floors to be completed; in the interim, she’d decided to transform the entire first floor into a place where plants could thrive and the Legion could rest.

  Elena understood the need for a haven, a safe place.

  With Maeve’s consent and advice, the winged fighters had already knocked down walls that weren’t load-bearing, opening up the space. They’d also ripped up the carpet and cleaned the floor so it was smooth. All of it since six that morning.

  As she helped rig things up so this floor would have adequate heat and humidity, then showed the Legion fighters how to handle the more delicate plants, she began to feel her own body relax. Their pleasure in the earth was transcendent, the haunting peace of it wrapping her in its wings . . . until her skin rippled with a cold shiver, her heart punching into her rib cage.

  She could hear them, the echo of whispers that together was a mind created of hundreds; it was a rushing, overwhelming sound inside her skull, like a wave crashing inside a cave. “Stop,” she gasped out.

  Silence.

  The Primary was in front of her seconds later. “The consort does not wish to join our conversation?”

  That was when Elena understood the voices had been an invitation. “One at a time,” she said, not sure quite what she was doing but feeling an odd sense of . . . vulnerability around her. “I want to know you one at a time.”

  A rustling consternation.

  “We are one,” the Primary said. “We are the Legion.”

  “This,” she said, brushing her hands over the miniature mandarin orange tree in front of her, “is one. The root systems, the trunk, the branches, the leaves, they all act together with one goal. Yet not one of the leaves is exactly the same. You can be one without being identical copies.”

  Muted whispers, the Legion attempting to be quiet for her benefit. It cut off when the Primary looked around the room. Returning his gaze to Elena, he said, “We will consider the idea of being one without being one.”

  • • •

  Elena was pretty sure the Legion continued their whispering discussion long after she left late in the afternoon. It had been eerie to be in a silent room when she’d known a heated debate was going on between its inhabitants.

  Having showered and changed at the Tower, she swept out under the rays of the setting sun, more than ready to go home, be with Raphael and their friends. She’d only been in the air a matter of seconds when she received a message from Demarco.

  You owe me fifty bucks. Bill Smith was waiting patiently in line for his bus.

  She couldn’t believe it; when they’d run into each other at their mutual favorite coffee place at dawn that morning, and he’d shared his plan for catching the vampire, she’d told him he was losing it. “Shows what I know,” she muttered and sent him a reply before sliding her phone away into a zipped pocket.

  Archangel? she said, unsure if she’d reach him. He’d taken a specialist squadron out over the sea to practice maneuvers. Now, more than ever, the Tower’s defenses had to be airtight. New York couldn’t appear wounded prey to the hostile forces who watched. On the other hand, their people were tired. It was why Dmitri had staggered exercises so every fighter would have more days off than usual in rotation.

  The wind swept into her mind, licked with rain and the endless sea. I’ll be home soon, hbeebti. Naasir has said he will behave if he arrives first.

  Well, he has promised not to eat me, so that’s something.

  Illium fell into flight with her as Raphael’s laughter lingered in her mind, while her Legion escort flew far enough overhead that it was unobtrusive. Angling her wings slightly so she could talk to the blue-winged angel beside her, the silver filaments in his feathers catching the fading light, she said, “Are you coming to dinner, too?”

  It was odd. She’d initially invited Naasir, Janvier, and Ash. The small team had become a tight unit during the fighting and she knew Naasir hadn’t yet had a chance to catch up with Ash. All three had accepted the invitation, but the weird thing was, suddenly every member of the Seven who was in the vicinity had the night off to join them.

  Illium’s golden eyes gleamed beneath the blue-tipped black of his eyelashes. “Oh, yes, I’m definitely coming to dinner.”

  Elena wasn’t an idiot. “What are you expecting Naasir to do?”

  Illium dived toward the water at breathtaking speed, came up at a steep angle. “Word is,” he said, “Naasir’s bringing you a present.”

  That didn’t sound ominous . . . until she considered who they were talking about.

  Illium shot up to the sun before she could question him about Naasir’s gift-giving proclivities.

  Elena kept to a more lazy flight homeward. Montgomery had promised her double chocolate fudge cake, and, whatever Naasir’s present, it couldn’t hold a candle to the butler’s double chocolate fudge cake—Montgomery made it himself from scratch, guarded the recipe like a dragon with his treasure.

  When her phone rang, she answered it with a smile. “I was waiting to hear from you,” she said to her younger sister Eve. “How did the exam go?”

  “It wasn’t as hard as my friends and I thought it would be,” Eve said, voice ebullient, and the two of them fell into an easy conversation.

  Landing on the snow-covered lawn of her and Raphael’s Enclave home not long after she and Eve said good-bye, she watched Illium come down fast and neat. Aodhan dropped out of the sky at a slower pace, the early evening light fracturing off him in dazzling sparks.

  “How’s the wing feel?” she asked, having noticed the last-minute correction he’d made to keep from toppling sideways.

  “Significant weakness, but I must continue to exercise it at this stage of the healing process.” He stretched both wings out to their full breadth, folded them back in again.

  Never, she thought, would she get used to the impossibility of Aodhan, to the feathers and hair that seemed coated with crushed diamonds that refracted light in endless shards. “Just make sure you don’t push it too far.” Hunters and Tower personnel, they both chafed at being grounded. Aodhan hadn’t mentioned pain, but she knew it had to be bad.

  The immortal ability to survive brutal wounds came at an agonizing price.

  “Don’t worry, Ellie.” Illium bumped a fist gently off Aodhan’s jaw, his skin warm gold against the sunshine-touched alabaster of Aodhan’s. “I sicced Keir on him two days ago when he refused to listen to reason. You haven’t seen a set-down until you’ve seen Keir delivering it.” A wince. “Poor Sparkle.”

  Aodhan did something she didn’t quite catch, and suddenly, Illium was on the ground, flat on his back in the snow. The shocked look on his face was almost as good as Aodhan’s studiously blank one. “Shall we go inside, Elena?”

  “How about helping me up first?” Illium scowled and held up a hand. “Now my back’s all wet.”

  Aodhan hauled him up with his good arm. “Poor Bluebell.”

  Elena’s lips twitched. It was starting to become clear why Aodhan and Illium had become friends. Aodhan might be quiet, bu
t he could hold his own against the blue-winged angel—who remained the only person Aodhan could bear to have touch him. Elena didn’t know what had traumatized Aodhan to that visceral depth, but she knew the silent battle he fought each and every day.

  “Your scars exist, but it’s your courage that defines you.”

  She’d said that to him a week past, received a piercing glance in return from the haunting fracture of his gaze. “I’m afraid, every instant, that the darkness will suck me back under.”

  “But you keep going, Aodhan. Any fool can jump unawares into danger—you know exactly the risk you’re taking, and yet here you are.”

  In front of her, he brushed the snow off Illium’s feathers and said, “Next time you call me Sparkle, I’m dumping you into the Hudson.”

  “I can swim.”

  “Come on,” Elena said with a grin. “Montgomery will be waiting.”

  The three of them had just taken the first steps toward the house when there was a wash of wind. Jason and Mahiya landed to Illium’s right a second later. The spymaster’s black wings were dramatic against the white of the snow, his facial tattoo vivid even in the gray light, but it was Mahiya’s spectacular wings that caught the eye. Jewel green and wild blue with strokes of black, the pattern was akin to a peacock’s spray.

  “Elena,” Mahiya said with the gentle smile that held an inner glow. “Thank you for having us to dinner on such short notice. I’m afraid we couldn’t resist the temptation.”

  “I’m starting to worry about Naasir’s idea of a gift.”

  Jason stirred. “He once brought an angel a bucket of piranhas and told the angel to stick his hand inside to retrieve his gift.”

  “But he didn’t like the angel,” Illium put in, “so you should be safe. I don’t know why the angel in question whined to everyone about it—he only lost a few fingers.”

  “At least there is nowhere for Naasir to find a live wild boar here.” That came from Aodhan, Illium nodding sagely beside him. “In his defense, he had been told to bring meat to the fire.”

  “Gee, don’t try to reassure me all at once.” Leading them inside, she discovered Montgomery had set up a table in the formal dining room.

  Elena and Raphael didn’t normally use this room for anything but meetings with archangels or other highly ranked individuals, it was so grand. However, it took on a different air with so many of the Seven in attendance. They sprawled over the elegant furniture, dug into Montgomery’s food, spoke with the ease of men who’d known one another for centuries.

  That feeling only intensified when Dmitri drove his gleaming Ferrari to the front door, Honor in the passenger seat. Raphael returned home at almost the same instant, and the buzz of conversation and laughter grew to fill the house. Fifteen minutes into it and Illium had coaxed a blushing Mahiya into dancing with him in the center of the room, while Aodhan and Dmitri played a chess grudge match using a priceless hand-carved set placed on an antique parquetry table.

  Honor, on the other hand, had walked over to examine the magnificent painting of the Refuge on the far wall, and Jason stood talking to Raphael as they watched Dmitri and Aodhan attempt to outthink one another.

  The only ones missing were the people she’d originally invited. “Did anyone ask Naasir if he needed a ride?” Janvier and Ash she wasn’t worried about, since both were locals—and they were on a case, the chilling details of which Raphael had shared with her.

  Goddamn Lijuan. Elena was ready for the crazy archangel to die and stay dead.

  “Naasir said he was coming with Janvier and his hunter.” Illium twirled Mahiya back into him on those words, the gold-edged orange of the calf-length tunic she wore over black cotton leggings flaring out in a rippling circle.

  The throaty purr of a powerful engine sounded just then, and Elena turned to the large windows that overlooked the drive to see a gleaming black panther of a car prowl to a stop next to Dmitri’s Ferrari. “Wow.”

  As she watched, the driver’s-side door was pushed up at the same time as the passenger door. Ash stepped out one side, Janvier the other . . . and that was when she realized Naasir was crouched on top of the car.

  17

  Ashwini got out of the incredible car Janvier had driven up in after calling to offer her a ride. Still wrestling with what she had to tell him, she should’ve said no, but she’d missed him. Plus, they had to talk. The fingerprints had been a bust, as had her attempt to track down witnesses and/or surveillance tapes. She’d also spoken to a professor Honor had said could be trusted, his specialty mummification.

  The white-haired male had read the interim autopsy report, then stared at the attached photos for considerable time, before saying conclusively, “Not natural. Not only is the severe cell-level damage incompatible with that, and with the ordinary process of mummification, the appearance of the corpse is all wrong in the context of its probable age, the fragile bones and teeth even more so.”

  Janvier had been busy, too. He’d spent his time touching base with the “day” vampire community, and while he’d picked up a jumpy vibe, he thought that had more to do with the aftermath of the battle than their victim. “Let’s enjoy this dinner,” he’d said after the two of them swapped information. “The clubs won’t hit their stride till around eleven, and I can’t think of any other way to move forward at this point.”

  Neither could Ashwini.

  Now, she stroked her hand down the paintwork of his car, the black holding a faint shimmer that made the car appear a living shadow. “I can’t believe you had this all the time.”

  He’d told her it had been garaged in Louisiana, that he’d hired a special truck to drop it off in New York. “Nobody,” he’d said, “drives her but me.”

  Ashwini could understand his covetous air. This was one sexy machine. “How much did it cost?” She’d never thought of Janvier as rich, but he had to be—he was very, very smart, and the smart vamps always ended up wealthy.

  “Don’t worry, cher.” A lazy drawl that licked over her like a full-body kiss. “I can keep you in the style to which I intend you’ll become accustomed.”

  “Such dreams you have, sugar.” She patted his cheek, to his grin, before reaching inside the car and to the footwell where she’d stored the gift Naasir had bought Elena. She couldn’t wait to see the look on her fellow hunter’s face. “Here,” she said, careful to keep her body in the way of the windows as she passed it over to the vampire.

  His hands touched hers as he took the present, but her ability only reacted with a bemused shrug. It didn’t know what to make of Naasir, which was fine with her. The lack permitted her to be friends with him without worry.

  Looking at him, she shook her head.

  Even though he’d been riding on top of the car—the maniac—the heavy silver silk of his hair had fallen back around his face in straight strands cut with a choppiness that suited him, and he looked far more civilized than she’d expected. He’d dressed in black pants and a black shirt, with an ankle-length black coat, the stark shade throwing his hair and eyes into sharp focus.

  Janvier, by contrast, was in jeans and a thin, oat-colored sweater below his battered leather jacket. She could see the edge of a white T-shirt beneath the sweater. Around his neck was a burgundy scarf knit with a wool-angora blend. She’d sent it to him after the Atlanta operation, and this wasn’t the first time she’d seen it around his neck—if he wore a scarf, it was this one.

  As she wore the sapphire pendant he’d given her. Right against her skin.

  “You better go first,” Janvier said to Naasir. “Montgomery’s opening the door.”

  Cradling his gift protectively in his arms, Naasir walked up to the door. “Hello, Montgomery.”

  “It is a pleasure to have you here, sir.” The butler’s plummy accent held real affection.

  “I promise not to claw up the furniture.”

  �
��That would be most welcome,” Montgomery responded, without a hitch in his butlerish tone. “Sir, Guild Hunter.”

  Nodding a greeting, Ashwini stepped inside to find Elena and Raphael heading toward them. She continued to have trouble comprehending how Elena could trust herself to someone that deadly and ruthless. Eyes of an excruciatingly pure blue and hair of a black darker than midnight, the Archangel of New York was in no way human, the power that pulsed off him a violent storm.

  A touch on her lower back, Janvier’s hand anchoring her in the present when she would’ve been sucked into the vortex that was Raphael’s more than thousand years of life, her ability stretching out toward him like a child afraid of fire but wanting to touch it all the same. Drawing in a breath that was jagged inside her, she didn’t tell Janvier to break contact, the heat of his body a talisman against her own out-of-control mind.

  In front of them, Naasir bowed his head. “Sire, Consort.”

  • • •

  Elena sighed in silent relief when she realized Naasir was holding nothing more dangerous than a potted plant, the pot wrapped in pretty foil paper. “It’s nice to see you, Naasir,” she said, touching Raphael’s mind with her own at the same time. The others will be disappointed. I think they were expecting something outrageous.

  “This is for you.” Naasir handed her the plant. “I thank you for the gracious invitation to your home.”

  The hairs rose on the back of her neck at the pristine civility of the words, the tiger-on-the-hunt scent of him at odds with the sophisticated vampire who stood in front of her. “Thank you,” she managed to say, wondering if she’d offended him somehow. Instinct told her Naasir was this polite only to people he didn’t like.

  “If Jessamy asks, tell her I followed the rules.” A feral grin.

  Oh. “I will.” Glancing down, she focused on the plant in her arms. It was unusual, the red heart of the open pods lined with what appeared to be tiny barbs. Intrigued, she touched a careful finger to the red . . . and it tried to eat her.

  Naasir laughed when she jumped, but it wasn’t a mean laugh. Coming up beside her, he said, “It took me hours and hours to find one in your city.” Pride in every word, he ran his finger over another open pod.