“Witnessed.” Titus’s soft voice.
“Even I,” Lijuan murmured, a hint of surprise in her tone, “did not go that far.” Her eyes almost disappeared in daylight. “What have you birthed, Neha?”
What happened next was a blur. Michaela moved her hand in a brutally hard gesture. It took a second for Anoushka’s head to fall off her body, her blood fountaining in an arterial spray. Wet hit Elena’s face, her clothes, but she forced herself to stand her ground as Neha rose with a scream, her nails elongating and turning black even as Michaela continued to make those lethal slashing motions.
Sweet mercy. Anoushka was being cut apart piece by piece.
Moving at a speed no mortal would ever reach, Neha clawed Michaela’s face, leaving a spread of black. Michaela slammed her hand to Neha’s chest, shoving her back. The black marks on her face turned a noxious, putrid green. . . . then drew back, as if the poison was being rejected. By the time Neha got to her feet, Michaela’s face was whole again, the poison dripping to scar the square-cut pavings of the courtyard.
Neha twisted toward her daughter, anguish in her eyes. “She’s old enough to—”
Angelfire, cold and blue, engulfed what remained of Anoushka. Elena stared at the hard line of Raphael’s face, without mercy, an archangel passing judgment. It shook her to the core, the speed of the execution, but she didn’t disagree with it—the image of Sam’s crumpled and bloody body would be with her forever.
Neha’s scream rent the air, so piercing it was something other, something beyond comprehension. The Queen of Snakes, of Poisons, went to her knees in the courtyard, tearing at her hair with the clawed tips of her hands. Raphael stepped back and met Elena’s gaze. It was time to go. They left on foot, all of them, even Lijuan. A silent show of respect.
No one spoke even when they reached the blinding light of the main courtyard. It was empty, the first time Elena had seen it that way in all her time here. Shadows blotted out the sunlight an instant later, a heavy cloudbank rolling in from the east. Looking up, she felt a chill crawl down her spine.
It wasn’t over.
Elena entered their rooms behind Raphael, with Aodhan bringing up the rear. Jason had made a rare daylight appearance to take Anoushka’s Master of the Guard to healers, leaving Aodhan free to return with them. “Sire,” the angel said after they were behind the closed doors. “I’m injured.” It was a calm statement.
Elena watched as he peeled off his bloody shirt to reveal a gash so deep he’d been all but been cut in half. “Jesus. How the hell did you fly to us?”
Aodhan didn’t reply, speaking to Raphael as he came to stand in front of him. “I may be a little slow tonight.”
“Stay,” Raphael said, raising his hand, that warm blue fire ringing his palm.
Aodhan’s face showed emotion for the first time. Panic, rage, fear, it was a twisting viciousness in his eyes. But he stood in place, let Raphael touch him, his flinch not noticeable unless you were looking very carefully. Raphael removed his hand a few moments later. The gash no longer looked as raw, as red.
Relief flooded Aodhan’s expression but Elena wasn’t sure it had anything to do with the fact that his wound was well on the way to being healed. She didn’t speak until after he’d left to return to his own room. “He doesn’t like being touched.”
“No,” Raphael confirmed, pulling off his own shirt and wiping his bloody hands on it.
Wondering what—or who—could have damaged an immortal so much that he flinched from even the most casual of touches, Elena began to remove what weapons she had left. “Good thing I brought spares.” Checking her thigh, she saw that while the wound was still pink, it didn’t need a dressing. “Shower?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t until they’d both showered and were sinking into the wet heat of a desperately needed bath that she said, “You’re the reason Sam is recovering faster than anyone expected.” Her heart overflowed with a fierce kind of pride.
“I’ve evolved,” he said, his eyes holding an almost lost look. Blue fire ringed the hand he lifted out of the water. “The gift is new, weak—I couldn’t heal Sam fully, though I returned many times.”
“But you sped up the process.” Moving to cup his face in her hands, she touched her forehead to his. “The scales are balanced, Raphael.”
“No,” he said. “They will never be balanced. I must never forget what I became in the Quiet.”
She thought of the swiftness of the justice meted out tonight, thought too of the thin line between power and cruelty, and knew he was right. “Well, one thing’s for sure—if you hadn’t been there tonight, I’d be dead.”