Archangel's Heart(49)

“Talking of art,” Hannah said after wrinkling her nose at Elijah in a way that was far too adorable, “come see this.” The other woman led her to a section of the Atrium hidden behind a hanging wall.

“Wow.” Breath rushing out of her, Elena just stared.

The artwork was another mosaic but it was far more intricate than the one she’d been staring at earlier. Each tiny square had been perfectly fitted to create the stunning image of an angel midfall, a spear through his heart that came out on the other side of his body. His wings were pure white splattered with the red of his blood, his hair a deep brown, his closed eyes making his eye color impossible to see.

Still . . . “Looks like Gian except for the wings.”

“I had not seen that, but yes, you are right. Perhaps he was the model for the artist?”

“Maybe,” she said, thinking of the conversation she’d overhead, of the “betrayal” the two other Luminata had referenced. Arrow through the heart wasn’t exactly a subtle image—and what did it say that Gian had allowed this to stay up here for who knows how long? “It’s a strange thing to have here. Aren’t the Luminata all about inner peace?”

“Immortals are never so simple, Ellie. The potential for violence lives in the most powerful of us always. We have too much power for it to be otherwise.”

Elena thought of all the deaths she’d seen since becoming an angel, compared it to the violence she’d experienced in her previous life, found herself nodding. Immortals took violence to the next level. “There’s a signature in that corner.”

“Where?” Hannah frowned. “Oh, how did you see that? It’s minuscule.”

“I don’t know. My eye just went to it.” She tried to bring the signature into focus but it was too high up in the mosaic to make out. “A shy artist.”

“Like Aodhan. He often hides his signature.”

They stayed in front of the mosaic for some time, taking in the intricate details as Elena tried to find a clue in the art. She saw nothing she hadn’t already seen, but then Gian came to stand beside her and she realized he must’ve been watching her again. It wasn’t as if she and Hannah were easily visible from the main section of the Atrium.

“This piece speaks to you?”

Elena said the expected thing. “Yes.” She turned to look at Gian, steeling herself to be the focus of his disturbingly intent gaze . . . and still had to clench her stomach to keep from betraying her surprise at how close he stood.

His wings were almost touching hers, a breach of etiquette that could be deadly for him. Because while Gian was powerful, Raphael was an archangel. And Gian wasn’t one of his Seven, whom he trusted to be so familiar with his consort. Elena wasn’t as sensitive about her wings as normal angels, but this was inappropriate enough that she wanted to reach for her knife, put it at his throat, and tell him to back off.

Taking a small step away from him instead, using the excuse of including Hannah in their conversation, she said, “Do you know the artist?”

“A mortal collective. Dead many centuries now.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to hear that,” Hannah murmured. “Such talent is rare.”

Gian shrugged and Elena expected him to say something along the usual lines about how mortals were born and they died, only for more to be born. Instead, he said, “Great beauty and great talent lie within mortals. I believe they burn hotter with it for their shorter lifetimes.”

The silvery sound of a bell broke the strange tension in the air.

“It is time for dinner,” Gian said, waving his hand forward. “Please. I will follow.”

Elena went ahead with Hannah, and the entire time she had Gian at her back, she was dead certain he was staring at her. She hoped he saw not her bare back but the knife she wore along her spine.




Raphael’s hunter said nothing until their escort left them at the door to their suite after the dinner. Then, she said, “I want to fly.”

“I was about to say the same.” Raphael needed clean, fresh air untainted by politics or secrets. “Aodhan, do you wish to join us?”

“Yes.”

The simple answer said all too much about Aodhan’s need for freedom.

“Give me two minutes to change.” Elena pushed into the suite. “I’ve got zero desire to flash my underwear at the Luminata.”

Raphael’s lips curved. No other consort or archangelic lover would ever say those words. Only his Elena. Would you like a shield of glamour?

No, I think the bathroom is safe—it doesn’t set off any of my instincts. What do you think?