Archangel's Heart(95)

Sighing as the energy sank into her, Elena rested her head against his chest, shifting until she was right over his heartbeat, as if listening to it. “Even though it frustrates me that we have to leave tomorrow, I’m glad, too. I really don’t like this place,” she murmured in a tone that was soft, private. “I can’t point to any one thing as the reason why, but—”

“I feel it, too.” While the warmth of her against him settled his protective urges, his skin continued to prickle with an awareness of subtle wrongness. “I spoke to my mother as we were flying back. She says in the past, the Luminata had vampiric border guards as well. The complement was never only angelic.”

“The change fits with what we were talking about earlier, doesn’t it.” Elena kept her head against his chest as he moved his hands to different parts of her wings, easing the strain and healing muscles that might’ve sustained microtears. “Only . . . vampires given that position would be pretty solid, not the type to go nuts even if they figured out the Luminata were ruling their own little mortal colony.”

It was an excellent point.

Then she made another one. “Maybe it’s because while angels seem to revere the Luminata enough that even the Cadre’s left them alone for a long time, vampires would be more clear-eyed.”

“Especially,” Raphael murmured, “vampires of the age to be stationed here. It’s far too sleepy a region to send experienced warriors—they’d consider it a punishment. I know Galen tended to send no one over two hundred and fifty.”

“It’s a place to get a little seasoning, then move on.” Elena nodded. “Vamps like that probably wouldn’t see the Luminata as anything but a bunch of angelic monks. No reverence, no looking the other way.” She began to play her fingers up the inner surfaces of his wings, the caress an intimate one between consorts. “I feel back to normal wing-wise.”

“Good.” Giving her one last pulse of healing energy, he bent his head.

She lifted hers as if he’d spoken, the kiss they shared a soft brush that was about connection, about being one in this place filled with outsiders, not all of whom wished them well. Raphael wanted to do so much more with his consort, but time was their enemy today. “I do not like abstinence,” he said against her lips.

Laughter in her eyes. “Great minds.” She ran her hands down his chest, his leathers soft under her touch. “We’ll make up for it when we’re back home.”

The dark gold of her skin pulled taut over her cheekbones, her laughter erased between one pulse and the next. “I don’t want you to go to China.”

“I must.”

“I know. Doesn’t make me any happier. The entire thing could be a giant trap.”

“It’s possible—but I don’t think even Lijuan is delusional enough to take on two Ancients at once, forget about the rest of the Cadre.”

“Since Her Creepiness thinks she’s a goddess, that fact lowers my worry levels by point one percent at most.” She touched her fingers to the Legion mark on his temple, and where her fingers brushed, wildfire sparked, as if drawn to her. “Shall we look at the map when we’re away from here? I can carry it easily in the same sheath as my crossbow bolts.”

Raphael nodded, aware the sheath had a cover she could zip up to protect her bolts from falling out during flight. It’d do as well to protect the map. “You need fuel first.”

“I’ll have a couple of energy bars.” She went to her travel case and opened an inner pocket to retrieve the bars. “I’d rather buy food from the marketplace. It’ll give us an excuse to talk to people, too. And then I don’t have to change to go to the Atrium.”

Catching the bar she threw over, Raphael bit into it.




It was as they were about to leave five minutes later that Elena said, “It would’ve been useful if I could’ve had a translation of what the woman in the marketplace told me.” It had clearly been important enough—and dangerous enough—that the woman hadn’t wanted Riad to hear it.

“I don’t suppose you have a local contact who can translate Moroccan Arabic,” she said jokingly. “And oh, someone who you trust to give us the correct translation.” It was the latter that was key, because the Luminata no doubt spoke the local language.

Raphael’s lips tugged up a little. “You will not like the answer, hbeebti.”

Surprised by his comment, she parted her lips to ask him to explain, then groaned. “Don’t say it.”

“I’m afraid I must—Tasha spent many years in Morocco once upon a time. She speaks the language flawlessly.”