Archangel's Legion(135)

Of the Seven, it was Aodhan who took the worst damage.

The angel, with his unearthly beauty, was almost decapitated when he left his flank unprotected in order to save the life of an injured commander. Aside from the gruesome neck wound, one of his wings had been hacked half off, his left arm gone. Crash-landing on a roof, he broke a number of bones and it was only the relentless fire of the shooters around him that kept the enemy angels from landing to finish the job.

Yet even close to death, he eschewed anyone’s touch but Illium’s.

Racing to the infirmary as soon as he forced Lijuan to retreat once more, Raphael saw that the other angel was conscious. “I must touch you, Aodhan.”

Throat destroyed, Aodhan spoke mind to mind. I will heal. Help the others.

Shaking his head, Raphael placed his hand very gently across the neck wound, and when Aodhan went white and stiff, knew he was throwing the angel back into the hell from where Raphael had carried him in his arms. I’m sorry, he said, adding yet another reason to the list of why he needed to kill Lijuan. I cannot lose one of my Seven.

He wasn’t certain Aodhan breathed until he lifted his hand, the neck wound sealed, though the other injuries would take weeks of painful healing. “I would not have done this unless I needed you.”

It is all right, Sire. Aodhan’s splintered eyes held forgiveness for the unutterable pain caused. Get me in front of a window. I can use my offensive abilities as long as I have a line of sight.

After personally moving Aodhan’s bed to a windowed area and smashing out the glass so the other man wouldn’t do it himself the first time he used his abilities, Raphael returned to the field of battle. Every time he rose, Lijuan did, too, meaning he couldn’t help his own forces, and sometime after midnight, she scored a hit almost directly to his heart.

The wildfire seared at the oily black of her power, but it was stuttering, almost overwhelmed. Knowing he couldn’t fight Lijuan and heal at the same time, Raphael blasted out with angelfire and managed to wing Lijuan, just as Jason sent his black lightning slamming into the other archangel. Neither hit was serious and Lijuan could have kept coming after him, but for some reason, she retreated—possibly, he realized, because her own power was starting to fade.

Her hair and eyes had both changed to oily black during the battles, but now he realized they were back to their usual shade. Lijuan, it seemed, wasn’t as all-powerful as she liked to make people believe and that was something they could use. Landing on a Tower balcony, he kept his feet by sheer strength of will as the battle raged within his body, Lijuan’s black poison attempting to shut him down, while the wildfire fought back.

He couldn’t fall, couldn’t allow his troops to see how badly he was injured.

Managing to make it inside, he caught Dmitri’s eye, saw his second understood what was happening, but Dmitri didn’t betray it by so much as a flicker of an eyelash. “Lijuan’s forces are pulling back,” he said. “I expect intermittent fighting throughout the night, but we should rest our troops in groups.”

Raphael spoke through a haze of red. “Numbers.”

Walking over so their words wouldn’t be overheard, his second said, “More than half our forces are dead or too severely injured to recover anytime soon. The others are exhausted, even our strongest. I predict Lijuan’s forces will launch an all-out offensive with the dawn—we have no other surprises to throw in their path and they know it.”

“Authorize the use of the rocket launchers come dawn,” Raphael said, but they both knew it wouldn’t be enough. “The cargo planes with the reborn?”

“Lifted off two hours ago,” Dmitri said, then lowered his voice. “Go. Heal. We’ll finish this discussion later.”

“Watch over my city, Dmitri.” He left the war room with agony searing up his spine, making it to his and Elena’s private Tower suite with teeth gritted. Collapsing on the living room floor on his front, he clenched his jaw to stifle the violent scream that wanted to erupt from his throat. A single sound and his entire fleet would realize how close they were to losing the city.





43





“Elena,” came Dmitri’s voice in her ear, “the fighting has lessened in intensity. You can stand down for now.”

Frowning, she tapped the reply button. “I’m fine, Dmitri. Pull some of the others.” Her mortal friends were showing worse signs of exhaustion—while she might be a baby immortal, she was still an immortal and it had an impact.

“You need to get back to the Tower.”

Ice trickled down her spine. “Understood.”