His face, too, was battered and fractured.
Bruises bloomed on every part of him that Raphael could see.
Though Donael called Ibrahim young, he had to be over a thousand years old to have been permitted to become a Luminata initiate. “He’ll survive,” Raphael told Elena, because his hunter knew very well that immortals could be killed. “He may, however, go into anshara.” The healing sleep might be the best thing for him.
Aodhan entered the room without knocking, the hooded Luminata by his side short of stature and small of form with shoulders that were hunched in and a gait that was hesitant. Laric came to Ibrahim’s side at once, the hands he placed on Ibrahim’s broken body an icy white marked with ridged scars of dark pink.
Stepping back to give the healer room to work, Raphael and his hunter both turned to Donael. It was Elena who spoke first. “Did you see or hear anything before you found him?”
A deep frown before Donael nodded slowly. “Yes. I heard muted thumps.” Dark gray eyes lingering on Ibrahim. “Such as could be made by punches being thrown into flesh. I did not like the sound, knew it was wrong in this place, so I called out.” His hands trembled as he tucked them into the sleeves of his robe. “I soon heard footsteps moving quickly away and there was no one but poor young Ibrahim in the hallway when I arrived.”
If Donael was telling the truth, he’d surprised Ibrahim’s attacker. That, however, brought up another question. “How long would that hallway usually be empty at this time of night?” Raphael asked.
“Close as it is to the dinner bell, it is not a time for contemplation for most of us,” Donael said slowly. “And the hallway is a crossroads for many. A ‘shortcut,’ the young ones call it.” The angel released a quiet breath. “I wouldn’t expect it to be empty for more than five minutes at most.”
“I don’t think this was a five-minute beating.” Elena’s voice was gritty. “An angel as old as Ibrahim couldn’t be so badly hurt so quickly . . . unless it was more than one person.”
“No,” Aodhan interrupted. “Laric says it was only one.”
Raphael turned to the angel, not asking how he was in communication with the silent healer. “Why?”
“He’s no expert, but there doesn’t seem to be enough variation in the blows.”
“Then someone else, more than one someone, must’ve seen Ibrahim being beaten,” Raphael said with grim understanding of exactly how deep the rot was in Lumia. “Given that it is a Luminata shortcut, the likelihood those bystanders were Luminata is near to a hundred percent certain. As is the fact they chose not to stop it.”
Or were too scared to, Elena said mind to mind, the steel of her a gleaming blade today. There are always people who have more power than others in any given situation. Old and respected as he is, Donael has power of his own, enough that the attacker didn’t want to take the risk of being seen by him.
Raphael considered it, realized she was right. The Luminata clearly give way to Gian, but as you’ve just pointed out, the old ones like Donael also hold considerable power—and he’s not the only one of his generation here.
Elena’s nod was reluctant. Yes, much as Gian creeps me out, I can’t see him just losing it like this. He’s always in control, the kind of angel who’d take his time, be subtle.
And what had been done to Ibrahim was in no way subtle.
“He is in anshara,” Aodhan said, and this time, Raphael saw how he was speaking to the healer.
Laric was using his scarred hands to sketch fluid, shallow movements into the air. It was an old language that relied on understated motion rather than sound. Rarely spoken these days, it was used mostly by those who wished to withdraw from the world, including vampires who chose seclusion. Aodhan had never used it as far as Raphael was aware, but clearly, if he knew it so well, he’d thought about it.
Rising, the healer continued the purposeful movements.
“Ibrahim needs to be in a safe place,” Aodhan translated. “Laric is happy to watch over him in his own quarters, but believes he shouldn’t be moved until the dawn. His body will have knitted together a little by then and movement will not cause him further harm.”
Do you trust him, Aodhan?
Yes, sire. He isn’t like many of the others, is as guileless as Ibrahim.
The healer moved at that instant and a stray beam of light from the overhead lamp caught on his throat and lower face. The scarring was the worst Raphael had ever seen on an immortal. Angels simply did not scar that way.
He felt Elena go motionless beside him, knew she’d caught it, too, but neither one of them said anything, letting the healer move to Ibrahim’s other side to further check his injuries and do what he could to ease them.