Archangel's Heart(22)

No, she was hunter-born. Stronger, faster, deadlier. Putting down his own wine, he offered her a blade he carried on himself because Elena had given it to him after a fight months ago. Your consort accepts his mistake, Guild Hunter. I should not have stated things as I did—I shouldn’t, in fact, have thought in such a pattern.

Elena took his peace offering, slid it away with a smile. Don’t sweat it. You are kind of old.

Very funny, Elena. In immortal terms, he was young, the youngest angel ever to become an archangel.

Come on, you set yourself up for it, she said with a laugh.

And that laugh, it was wildfire in his blood. Was life. “Aodhan, you will be with Elena during the Cadre meetings. I’ll leave it to the two of you to decide how best to utilize your resources.”

Elena’s eyes widened. Placing her hand on his thigh under the table, she said, Hey, I didn’t want a public statement. I know it’s important the Seven see you as their sire.

Yes, his hunter still had that mortal heart that loved him when it wasn’t the least bit to her advantage. She’d be far safer had she never met him. But Elena had never lived a safe life. That won’t change if they see me accepting my consort’s point. I’d be a stupid archangel if I didn’t value my greatest treasure.

Expression soft in a way that was for him alone, Elena lifted her wineglass. Knhebek, Archangel.





7


Elena spoke the words of love in her grandmother’s language, felt Raphael’s response in the look he gave her. It was blue fire and it was furious tenderness.

When she turned back to face Illium and Aodhan, she caught the sorrow in Illium’s eyes. It was old, that sorrow, came from the loss of the mortal he’d once loved, a woman for whom he’d lost his feathers in punishment and whom he mourned to this day.

Then Aodhan leaned in to murmur something against his ear. Face lighting up at whatever it was his best friend had said, Illium chuckled.

“Sire,” the light-shattered angel said afterward, his profile a purity of clean lines. “I have been doing further research on the Luminata.”

Intrigued, Elena focused on the angel who was more luminous than any of these Luminata could possibly be.

“Their leader, Gian,” Aodhan continued, “has held his position for four centuries—this is unusual among the Luminata. They are meant to rotate the leadership through their membership every five decades to ensure that politics and power do not distract from or corrupt a member’s search for luminescence.”

Raphael, who had gone motionless beside Elena, now said, “How do you know this, Aodhan?”

“Yes.” Illium’s tone was as hard as stone. “The Luminata don’t exactly advertise their internal workings.”

Elena realized she was missing something, so much withheld aggression in the air that she could’ve cut it with a knife.

Aodhan broke eye contact with Raphael to meet Illium’s gaze. The words he spoke were edgier than she’d ever heard Aodhan sound. “I’m no longer a broken doll who needs to be protected from those who might play roughly with me.”

Flinching as if he’d been slapped, Illium shoved back his chair and left the library through the doors that stood open to the lawn.

Elena.

She was already moving. I’ve got it. If she hadn’t heard that tone in Aodhan’s voice before, she hadn’t seen that expression on Illium’s face, either. So furiously angry and yet hurt. Deeply hurt.

Following the angel outside, she hoped he hadn’t taken off—because if Illium wanted to outpace her, she had no chance in hell of catching up to him. But he was standing on the very edge of the property, on the cliffs that looked down on the dark waters of the Hudson, the Manhattan skyline in the distance. Angels landed on Tower balconies as she watched, but today, even that sight didn’t have the power to hold her attention.

Walking to stand beside Illium, she very deliberately slid her wing over his tightly held ones; a touch that told him he wasn’t alone but that made no demands. Words weren’t always easy when things mattered.

The wind was quiet against her face tonight. It pushed Illium’s hair back gently from his face, those black strands dipped in blue that simply grew that way, to reveal the lines of a face that held a pure masculine beauty. But beautiful though he was, it hadn’t been his looks but the playful wickedness in Illium that had drawn Elena—that light in him, it was a bright, joyful candle against the dark.

Today, the light was snuffed out, his golden eyes strangely flat—as if he was holding himself in such fierce check that he’d buried the best part of himself. Elena couldn’t stand it. She took his hand, wove her fingers through his. He didn’t respond for a second, two . . . then, at last, his fingers curled around hers.