Archangel's Kiss (Guild Hunter #2)(12)

“No, but there aren’t many who’d dare taunt you,” Dmitri said, putting the dagger back into his pocket. “Even fewer who’d think they could get away with it.”

“Nazarach is in the Refuge,” he said, knowing the other angel was more than old enough to be dangerous. “Find out who else might consider themselves a contender.”

“There’s only one on the verge of becoming an archangel.”

The Cadre alone was supposed to be privy to that truth, but Raphael trusted Dmitri far more than he trusted his fellow archangels. “He also has no need to play these kinds of games.” To be an archangel was to be Cadre. It was as simple—and as inevitable—as that.

“It’s one of the old ones.” Angelic history told of a few rare instances of those who were not archangels becoming Cadre. They never lived long. But the fact of their existence gave dark hope to those who craved the drug of power without understanding the price it inevitably demanded. “Someone strong enough to seduce others.”

“There’s something else,” Dmitri said as Raphael was turning to go back to Elena. “Michaela”—he named another member of the Cadre of Ten—“has sent a message to say she’s about to arrive at the Refuge.”

“She waited longer than I expected.” Michaela and Elena were like oil and fire. The female archangel couldn’t stand to be anything but the center of attention. And yet when Elena, with her rough hunter clothing and pale hair, walked into a room, the balance of power shifted in the most subtle of fashions. Raphael didn’t think Elena was even aware of it—but it was why Michaela had despised her from their very first meeting.

“Whether it’s against Michaela or this pretender, she”—Dmitri glanced at the closed door at Raphael’s back—“isn’t strong enough to defend herself. It would take very little effort to end her life.”

“Illium and Jason are here. Naasir?” He’d trust only his Seven to watch over her.

“On his way back.” Dmitri, as the head of Raphael’s security, knew exactly where each of his men was at any given time. “I’ll make sure she’s never alone.”

Raphael heard the unspoken words. “And will she be safe with you?”

The vampire’s expression altered. “She weakens you.”

“She is my heart. Protect her as you did once before.”

“If I’d known the consequences of that decision . . . But it is done.” When Dmitri gave a curt nod, Raphael knew his Seven wouldn’t move against her. Some archangels might have killed Dmitri for daring to stand against him, but the vampire had earned that right.

More, Raphael understood the value of what Dmitri and the rest of his Seven had given him. Without them, he may well have become another Uram, another Lijuan, long before Elena was even born. “Give Illium the majority of the shifts. Elena’s less likely to object to him.”

Dmitri snorted. “Her precious Bluebell’s going to fall in love with her, and then you’ll have to kill him.”

“What better guard for Elena than one who loves her?” As long as that guard never forgot it was an archangel’s mate he watched over. Betrayal would not be tolerated. “When’s Michaela scheduled to arrive?”

“Within the hour. She’s extended an invitation to dinner.”

“Accept it.” It was always better to know your enemy.

Elena woke from a mercifully dreamless sleep to the knowledge that she wasn’t alone. And it wasn’t the clean scent of rain, of the wind, that filled her senses. Her shields, however, remained down. Shifting on the bed, she glanced through the open balcony doors to see Illium’s distinctive blue wings spread out as he sat nonchalantly on the railing, his legs hanging over the steep plunge of the gorge.

Silhouetted against the starlit sky, he appeared a being out of myth and legend. But as she’d seen this afternoon, if this place was a fairy tale, it was the dark and blood-soaked original. “You’ll fall off if you’re not careful.”

He turned to glance at her. “Come sit with me.”

“No thanks. I just finished healing all my broken bones.” She’d shattered so many when she’d fallen in New York. But strange as it was, there’d been no pain in those final moments. All she remembered was a sense of peace.

And then Raphael had kissed her.

Golden and exquisite, erotic beyond compare, the taste of ambrosia had filled her mouth as Raphael’s arms held her safe, as her archangel seized her from death itself.

“The look on your face,” Illium murmured. “I once had a woman look at me that way.”

Elena knew Illium had lost his feathers, lost his ability to fly, for speaking angelic secrets to a mortal . . . a mortal he’d loved. “Did you look at her that way, too?”

Those eyes of beaten gold were compelling even with the distance between them. “Only she’d know. And she went to earth long before the world grew cities of steel and glass.” He returned his attention to the vista before him.

Sitting up in bed, she stared at the curving beauty of his wings, shimmering silver blue in the dark, and wondered if Illium still mourned for his human lover. But that was a question she had no right to ask. “The vampire?”

“His name is Noel. He hasn’t regained consciousness.” His voice was a naked edge. “He’s one of ours.”