His wings covered her from view as he leaned close. “A bare scratch.”
She knew it had been more than that. She’d felt her flesh being gouged out, but she understood the message. Nodding, she bit her lower lip and tried to stay calm. When she glanced down, she saw his hands on either side of the wound. They were glowing blue.
Fear rose, but she knew that couldn’t be angelfire. It wasn’t hurting her. In fact, she could feel a soft warmth at the site. As she watched, her eyes wide, an umber-colored liquid seeped out of the wound to discolor the paving stones. “Dear God.” It was an almost soundless whisper. The stuff was eroding the stone.
“You’re fine, Elena. It was simple shock.” Betray no weakness.
Elena let him pull her to her feet, sliding her foot over the discolored part of the paving as she did so. As Raphael folded away his wings, she realized two things. One, both the claw marks and the cuts on her arms had stopped bleeding, and two, the entire Cadre had come with Raphael. Neha knelt by her daughter’s slumped body, the sword flung aside, a spray of red marking its path on the stones. Her daughter’s blood was scarlet against the archangel’s dusky skin, her eyes ice when she glanced back. “She will die.”
Elena didn’t think Neha was talking about Anoushka.
37
Raphael’s face was expressionless. “Elena isn’t the one who orchestrated the brutalization of a child.”
Someone sucked in a breath and Elena realized it was Michaela, the female archangel’s body angled toward Anoushka though she stood to Raphael’s left.
“Lies,” Anoushka said, her breath coming easier as her body healed. “The hunter sought to make her name by killing an angel.”
It just came out. “I helped kill an archangel. I have no need to prove myself.”
Neha rose, her movement as sinuous, as silky as that of the pythons she kept as pets. “Give me your mind.”
Elena was suddenly drowning in the scent of rain, of the sea, as Raphael lifted a hand filled with angelfire. “No one will touch Elena. It’s Anoushka’s mind you should search.”
There was a blur of movement overhead and then Aodhan was landing beside Elena, though, given his angle of descent, it would have been far easier for him to land between Michaela and Raphael. The angel was covered in so much blood, it had turned his diamond-bright wings to rust. But that wasn’t what chilled the whole courtyard to silence. Aodhan had a vampire in his arms. That vampire was missing all his limbs. But he was still alive.
Elena fought not to show her horror. The last time she’d seen a vampire in that condition, the man had been a victim, tortured for days by a hate group.
“Sire.” Aodhan placed his burden on the stones. “I was detained by Anoushka’s Master of the Guard. His mind holds the truth.”
From the look on Anoushka’s face, there was no denying the vampire’s identity. Elena saw it only because she was looking directly at the Princess—a spark of pain, of loss. The angel actually felt something for this vampire. But not enough. Rising, she picked up the kukri in one of those reptilian snaps of movement, and threw it at the vampire’s neck.
Raphael caught it by the blade, his blood dripping onto the vampire’s ravaged chest. “Favashi, Titus, take his mind.”
The quiet Persian archangel closed her eyes. The big, black archangel did the same. It took less than a second.
“Guilty,” Favashi whispered, speaking to Neha. “Even if Astaad forgives the murder of his concubine, even if Titus forgives the killing of the female from his lands, even if Raphael forgives the torture of his man, the attempt on his mate’s life, you cannot save her.”
“She broke our supreme law.” Titus’s voice was incongruously soft for such a big man, the slabs of muscle on his chest gleaming around the steel gray of his breastplate.
“The abuse of a child,” Astaad murmured in an almost academic tone, stroking two fingers over his small, neat black beard, “may be the only true remaining taboo we have. Cross that line, and we may as well surrender to the darkness that stalks us all.”
“The boy isn’t dead,” Neha responded.
“Murder or vicious assault, the penalty is the same—and the child was so close to death as to make little difference.” An archangel with iron in his voice and eyes of golden brown. Elijah. “The worst is that she didn’t do it alone. She taught others to savor the pain of an innocent.”
“She planned to take other angelic children once she became Cadre,” Favashi said, her tone sorrowful but unbending, “to rule her angels by keeping their young hostage.”