Archangel's Kiss (27 page)

“I’ll never be safe.” It came out a withheld scream, so taut, so painful it was barely sound. “He hunts me in my dreams.”

“Who?”

“You know.” She tried to lower the knife. Her muscles refused.

“Say it. Make him real, not a phantom.”

Her mouth filled with the taste of bitter rage. “Slater Patalis.” The most infamous killer vampire in recent history. “We were his last snack stop.”

“The records say the hunters were able to capture him because you disabled him.”

“I remember stabbing him through the eye, but that wouldn’t have stopped him.” Her fingers finally unclenched, dropping the knife. It would’ve sliced into her thigh had Raphael not caught it midfall.

Placing it on the small bedside table, he said, “Your memories are incomplete?”

“They’re coming back more and more.” She stared out at the wall, seeing nothing but blood. “I’ve always seen parts, but now I think they were jumbled up pieces of the whole. What I saw tonight . . .” Her eyes burned, her hands fisting on her thighs. “The monster broke my mother’s legs, her arms, pinned her to the bed, made her listen as he killed Belle and Ari.”

Raphael opened his arms. “Come here, hunter.”

She shook her head, unwilling to surrender to weakness.

“Even an immortal,” Raphael said quietly, “has nightmares.”

She knew he wasn’t talking about her. Somehow, that made it easier. She fell into his embrace, burying her face in the warm curve of his neck, the clean, bright scent of him filling her lungs. “Later, I saw the streaks on the carpet, realized she’d tried to come to us even after he hurt her so badly. But he came back upstairs, put her in that bed again.”

“Your mother fought for you.”

“She lost consciousness soon after I found her. I was so scared then, so afraid to be all alone with him, but now, I think her lack of consciousness was a mercy.” Her stomach twisted because in the most secret depths of her mind, she knew Slater had hurt her mother in other ways, made Elena watch. “I stayed awake because I knew Beth was coming home from her sleepover soon. I knew I couldn’t let the monster get her. But he was gone before that.”

“So your youngest sister was saved from the horror.”

“I don’t know,” Elena said, remembering the lack of comprehension on Beth’s small face at the funeral ceremony for Ari and Belle. “It was her first ever sleepover, and I don’t think she’s spent a night away from home ever again. Somewhere deep inside, she’s afraid of what she’ll come home to.”

“You, too, hold a hidden fear,” Raphael murmured. “What is it that you’re so scared to speak of?”

“I think,” she said through the haze of tears she refused to let fall, “he did something to me.” Then he’d left both her and Marguerite alive, while Ari and Belle lay dead on the kitchen tiles.

“Tell me.” Raphael’s voice was an icy breeze.

She welcomed the ice, wrapping it around herself like a safety blanket. “I haven’t reached that part of the day yet.” Her heart squeezed off panicked beats at the idea but she held on to Raphael, his body strong beneath hers, and confronted the nightmare head-on. “Whatever it was, it was so bad, I blanked it from my mind all these years.”

“It may have been the transition that resurrected the memories.” His arms were granite around her, possessive, protective, immoveable. “Your coma may have unlocked the same part of your mind as that which opens in immortals during
anshara
.”

He’d fallen into the deep healing sleep during the hunt for Uram, had returned to his childhood, to the heartbreaking beauty of his mother’s face looking down into his while he bled across a meadow floor. “It opens memories that have faded over time, until we believe that they are long gone.”

“Nothing’s ever gone.” A warm breath across his neck, fingers curling into his chest. “We fool ourselves that things fade, but they never do.”

Raphael brushed a hand over that brilliant near-white hair that had hung like a banner over his arm as they fell to earth in Manhattan. Some memories, he thought, were etched in stone.

“What do you dream of in
anshara
?”

“It’s not something spoken of. Each angel’s journey is his own.”

Elena’s fingers spread over his heart. “I guess it’s about confronting your demons.”

“Yes.” And then he made a decision he’d never thought he’d make—not since the day he watched Caliane move across the dew-sparkling grass, her feet so light, her voice so clear as she hummed an old lullaby. “I dream of my mother.”

Elena stilled. “Not your father?”

“My father was the monster who was known.” His mother had been the horror in the dark, unknown, unknowable. “Caliane kissed me good-bye as I lay bleeding and bloody after a fight I knew I’d never win.” But he’d had to try, had to stop the madness that had spread a dark stain across his mother’s eyes. “That was the last time I saw her.”

“Was she killed by the Cadre?”

“No one knows what happened to my mother.” It was a mystery that had haunted him for hundreds of years, would probably continue to do so for thousands more. “She simply vanished. No trace of her was ever found after the day I watched her walk away.” He hadn’t been discovered for . . . a long time. So young, so damaged, he hadn’t been able to summon help, had lain there a broken bird, his wings crushed.

“Do you think she knew?” Elena asked, sorrow in her voice. “That she took her own life to spare you the task?”

“Some say that.” Raphael ran his fingers down her wings, fascinated as always by the blend of colors that marked his hunter as unique even among angelkind.

“What about you?”

“When angels have lived millennia, they sometimes choose to Sleep until such time as they feel compelled to wake.” Secret places, hidden places, that was where angels slept when eternity became a burden.

“Do you think Caliane is Sleeping?”

“Until I see her body, see her burial place . . . yes, I think my mother Sleeps.”

T
he next six weeks passed in a fury of weapons and flight training—with Raphael when he was in the Refuge, and with Galen when Raphael had to return to the Tower. Her spare time, she spent inhaling as much information as she possibly could, and visiting Sam. To her delight, the boy was healing far faster than anyone had predicted. Noel, too, was well on the way to recovery.

There was no more overt violence at the Refuge . . . except for the bloodstained Guild daggers that kept showing up in places she frequented. The blood proved to be Noel’s, so there could be no mistake about the origin of the threat. Unfortunately, the daggers had all been devoid of vampiric scents. And Elena’s angel-tracking ability continued to be wildly erratic.

Frustrated at the lack of a solid lead—but determined to ensure she’d be no easy target—Elena had just dropped off another dagger at the forensic center one cool morning when she came face-to-face with Neha’s daughter.

“Namaste.”
The greeting came from the mouth of an enchantingly beautiful woman with the sloe-eyed gaze of a born sybarite . . . if one didn’t see the calculating intelligence behind it.

Elena kept her response calm, polite. So far, nothing pointed to Anoushka as being the angel they were looking for, and as Neha’s daughter, she was a power—one Elena didn’t need to piss off without reason.
“Namaste
.
”

Anoushka looked her up and down, making no effort to hide her appraisal. “I was curious about you.” It was an almost girlish statement as she walked forward, graceful in a white sari embroidered in blush pink and powder blue. “So human you look, though you wear wings,” she murmured. “Your skin must show every bruise, every wound.” Such a casual comment. Such a quiet threat.

Elena answered with the truth. “Your skin is flawless.”

A blink, as if she’d surprised the other angel. Then Anoushka inclined her head by the merest fraction. “I don’t think I’ve heard a compliment from another female angel for at least a hundred years.” A smile that should have been charming, and yet . . . “Will you walk with me?”

“I’m afraid I’m headed to training.” She glimpsed Galen out of the corner of her eye, hoped he’d keep his distance. Right now, Anoushka did appear merely inquisitive. Any sign of aggression and things might get ugly.

“Of course.” Anoushka waved her hand. “It must worry Raphael to have a mate who is so very weak.”

Having the other angel at her back felt like beetles crawling over her skin. She was almost glad to fall into step beside Galen—right now, trying to protect herself from a weapons expert sounded like a far better bet than fencing with an angel who might be a true cobra. According to the rumors she’d heard, Anoushka had grown up drinking poison with her mother’s milk.

A shiver skated across her body, and she was more than ready to throw herself into the gruelingly physical training. However, another one of Neha’s creations—Venom—interrupted the hand-to-hand combat session midway. The vampire had on his ubiquitous shades, his body clothed in a black on black suit. But, for once, his expression held no hint of mockery. “Come. Sara is waiting for you on the phone.”

She was already walking at a fast clip beside him. “Has something happened to Zoe?” Fear for her goddaughter caught her by the throat.

“You should speak to her directly.”

Her wings brushed the steps as she walked up to Raphael’s office. She pulled them up instinctively, the action second nature now—thanks to having been put on her ass by Galen more than once. He would give no quarter. Any mistake and she went down. She appreciated it—because Lijuan’s reborn sure as hell wouldn’t have mercy on her if the oldest of the archangels decided to set her pets on her guests.

Leading Elena to the corridor outside the office, Venom took a sentinel position by the door. She knew without asking that Illium was around somewhere—there were never less than two of the Seven with her when Raphael was away from the Refuge. It irritated her, more than irritated her. But facts were facts. She’d regained her strength, honed her skills, but she was no archangel, and the dagger threats aside, Michaela was still in the Refuge. Whatever softness the female archangel had in her heart for the young, she had none for Elena.

The last time Elena had spoken to Ransom, he’d told her the vampires were now laying bets on her living long enough to even attend Lijuan’s ball, much less survive it.

Grabbing the phone as soon as she reached the office, she said, “Sara?”

“Ellie.” Sara’s voice was strangely accented—a mix of worry and anger. “I’ve got your father waiting on another line.”

Her hand tightened on the phone. Jeffrey Deveraux had pretty much called her a whore at their last meeting. “What does he want?”

“Something’s happened.” A pause. “I could tell you, but this time, I think he has the right.”

Frowning, Elena nodded though Sara couldn’t see her. “Transfer the call. Let’s get it over with.” She wouldn’t let him hurt her, she vowed. The man who’d fought for her right to see her sisters, to say good-bye, was long gone, and she was through with being wounded by the bastard who’d taken his place.

Sara didn’t waste any time. A hiss of air and then silence. “Yes?” Elena said, unable to call him father.

“You need to get back to New York. This is connected to your work.” The last word was full of the same distaste that had flavored any mention of her skills as a hunter-born by her father as long as she could remember.

And now he thought her a vampire. It was a wonder he was deigning to speak to her at all. Her hand tightened impossibly further. “What?”

A pause that hummed with things long unsaid. “Your mother’s grave was violated last night.”

Lijuan.
An icy anger uncurled in Elena’s gut. “Did they take her?”

“No.” A curt word. “The perpetrator was disturbed in the process by a vampire who appears to belong to Raphael.”

Her knees threatened to crumple as relief tumbled through her. Of course Raphael had put guards on her family’s graves after the gift Lijuan had sent her. Bracing herself against the desk, she fought to keep her tone even. “Maybe it’s time you followed Mama’s wishes to have her body cremated and her ashes scattered on the winds.”

“So I can fly,
chérie
.”

That had been Marguerite’s response when Elena had questioned her after overhearing her talking to Jeffrey about what she’d want him to do if she died before him.

“There’ll be no need for it if you can keep your friends away from her.” Each word was hard, designed to cut, to bruise.

Flinching, she said, “There’s every need—but then, you’ve never known how to keep promises.” She hung up before he could say anything else, her hand trembling as she lifted it to her mouth.

The door opened behind her the next instant, and she knew without turning that Raphael had come home for her. “They didn’t touch her?”

“They didn’t even get within touching distance of the headstone.” Strong hands on her shoulders, pulling her back against a warm wall of a chest.

“My father made it sound like they’d dug her up.” She closed her hands over his. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I heard in transit.” A kiss pressed to her cheek. “I wanted to tell you in person—I didn’t expect that Jeffrey would have the resources to find out so quickly.”

“My father knows everyone there is to know.” Both legal and not, though he’d slap her for implying the latter. “The one who tried to get to my mother’s grave. Were your men able to catch him?”

“Yes.” A quiet acknowledgment that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “He was reborn.”

She sucked in a breath. “He had enough of a mind to carry out the orders on his own?”