Then there were the eyes.
A black pupil, shattered outward in spikes of crystalline green and blue. You could look endlessly into those eyes and see nothing but your own image reflected back at you a thousand times over. They were beyond clear, beyond translucent, and yet they were impenetrable.
His wings were white. Absolute and with the same diamond shine as his hair. They glittered in the bright winter sunlight, until she almost wanted to look away. He should have been beautiful. And he was. An astonishing being, one who would never in a thousand years pass for human. But there was something so remote about him that it felt akin to admiring a statue or a great work of art.
As it was, this angel was the last member of Raphael’s Seven. His name was Aodhan, and he wore two swords side by side in a vertical sheath on his back, their hilts unadorned except for a symbol similar to a Gaelic knot, but unique in a subtle fashion. She’d have asked him about it, but he spoke so rarely, she hadn’t yet learned the timbre of his voice. His silence felt strange after Illium’s humor, Venom’s barbs, even Dmitri’s sensual taunts. But it did allow her to focus uninterrupted on their surroundings.
Her eye fell on a particular carving at the bottom of a small flight of steps. Walking down, she found herself on the same level as the main courtyard, a winter-bare tree to her left, the carved panel to her right. Ignoring the courtiers who were pretending to ignore her, she turned her attention to the carving.
One touch and she knew it was old. She’d always been able to estimate the age of things, especially buildings. And this panel was at least a few centuries old. It had been carved with painstaking care, the scene one of a day in court life. Lijuan sat on a throne, while below her, courtiers danced and acrobats played. Nothing extraordinary . . . and yet. She frowned, examined it again.
There.
“It’s Uram.” It shouldn’t have been a shock to find an image of the dead archangel, but—“I never saw him this way.” So compelling, his presence darkly beautiful beside Lijuan’s elegance. “All I saw was the monster he became.”
It surprised her when Aodhan spoke, his voice holding the music of a land of green hills and faerie mounds. “He was a monster even then.”
“Yes,” she said, knowing such depravity couldn’t have come into being overnight. “He just hid it better I suppose.”
She was about to head down a narrow pathway when her instincts jerked awake. Shifting on her heel, she saw an angel walking toward her. His eyes were amber, his wings the same shade, his skin darker than Naasir’s.
She’d never met him, but she knew him. Nazarach. Ashwini’s voice had been full of whispered horror when she’d spoken of him.
“The screams in that place, Ellie.” A shiver, rich brown eyes darkening to black. “He enjoys pain, enjoys it more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Raphael’s hunter.” The angel inclined his head in a slight nod.
“Elena.” She slid her hand into a pocket, closed it around the gun. The short sword she and Galen had decided on as best fitting her style hung from her waist, along her right thigh. But even Galen had agreed it was to be a last choice weapon—she simply wasn’t fast enough to take on most other angels.
“I am Nazarach.” Those distinctive amber eyes went to Aodhan. “I haven’t seen you in public for decades.”
Aodhan didn’t reply, but Nazarach didn’t seem to need one, his attention returning to Elena. “I look forward to dancing with you, Elena.”
Elena was very sure she wanted those hands nowhere near her. She might not have been born with the extra senses that haunted Ashwini, but the way Nazarach looked at her . . . as if he was imagining her scream. “Sorry, but Raphael’s claimed them all.”
A smile that made her female instincts scream in warning. “I’m not one to give up so easily.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yes.” His eyes flicked to their right. “I must speak to my men.”
Glancing at Aodhan after Nazarach walked off, she realized the angel’s spine was rigid. “Are you alright?”
He gave her a look of surprise. Then, a slight inclination of his head.
Figuring Nazarach was enough to give even one of the Seven the creeps, she pointed to a narrow passageway that would take them away from Nazarach’s current position. “Let’s go this way.”
Aodhan followed her without a word, their wings touching as they turned. “Sorry,” she said, stepping away in a quick movement.
A jerky nod, his wings held tight to his back.
It looked like Aodhan really didn’t like having his wings touched. His wings . . . or anything else. She belatedly realized he’d made no contact with anyone in the time since Raphael had introduced him to her. Making a mental note to keep her distance, she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the brighter light on the other side of the passageway.