Archangel's Legion (Guild Hunter #6)(107)

When Illium returned in the twilight hours beyond midnight, Lijuan’s forces still at least twelve hours away, for they had to move at the speed of their slowest member, he brought worse news than anyone could’ve imagined.

“Your people didn’t fail,” Raphael said to a quietly infuriated Jason, pointing out a commander to Lijuan’s left. “She was part of Uram’s troops.”

Dmitri pinpointed three more of the dead archangel’s people, all commander level, just in the first row. “Uram’s territory was parceled out after his execution,” the vampire said, “his troops divided. If all the extra fighters prove to be Uram’s, she has over half his squadrons. She shouldn’t.”

Aodhan was the one who answered, voice quiet but words potent. “If Raphael were to perish, the Seven divided, would we not come together should we have a chance to avenge his death?”

“I didn’t think the guy inspired that kind of loyalty,” Elena said, staring at the photographs of the massive force that would soon hit Manhattan. “I mean, he murdered hundreds of his own people.”

“He was a good archangel once.” An archangel Raphael had called friend an eon past. “That is who his loyal soldiers remember, who they seek to avenge.”

“Sire,” Galen said from the screen on the wall, where he and Venom had joined in the discussion, “the enemy outnumbers us five to one. We need to pull our forces inward and compel the enemy to mount a siege. So long as the Tower does not fall, Lijuan doesn’t win.”

Raphael knew what it must’ve cost his weapons-master to make that recommendation, for Galen was a warrior who lived by the blade. And though he knew the other man’s counsel was sound, the idea of abandoning any part of his city made his blood rage.

It was Elena who gave him perspective. “With the entire area evacuated,” she said, “we’d only be protecting buildings anyway. Buildings can be rebuilt.” Bleak acceptance in the silver-gray, his hunter who loved every tiny pocket and corner of her city.

“Go,” he said to Dmitri. “Do what needs to be done, commandeer the people you need.” All the anti-wing guns would have to be moved, for a start. “I’ll rework the troop placements.”

Dmitri left with a curt nod, taking Jason with him and ordering Illium to rest after his long flight. Aodhan went in a separate direction, having assumed the task of ensuring there’d be enough food stock inside the Tower for the hunters and the wounded, should the siege continue beyond a few days. Water, at least, was no problem, the Tower having a secret independent line that had been put in place at the time of its construction.

Raphael turned to the last member of his Seven who remained, Galen and Venom having signed off to return to their task of holding the Refuge stronghold secure. “How many more do you need in your team?” he asked Naasir. The vampire had arrived forty-eight hours before, fed well, and was at full strength.

“The team is complete,” was the response, Naasir’s silver eyes intelligent as only a predator’s could be. “Janvier and his hunter.”

“I wouldn’t call Ash that to her face,” Elena pointed out, wondering what it was Naasir planned to do. If she had to guess, given the team members and their abilities, she’d say it was about causing sabotage and disorder among the enemy camp.

A feral grin that said Naasir still found her interesting, and then he was gone.

Alone with Raphael for the first time in hours, Elena touched her fingers to his face and he lifted the glamour to expose the mark on his temple. It had grown at an accelerated rate since the river altered color . . . to the point where it was now clear it had nothing to do with disease—no, it was a symbol both savage and dangerously elegant. Created of complex but jagged lines, it curved down his temple to the top of his cheekbone on one end, the other end curling in on itself.

“Raphael, it’s not red anymore,” she whispered, astonished at the primal beauty of a finished design that reminded her of a stylized dragon. “It’s the color of us.” An incredible violent blue lit with searing white fire, so drenched with light and color that it appeared alive.

Reinitiating the glamour until they were in the bathroom of their suite, Raphael dropped it to examine the mark in the mirror. “I’ve seen this design before,” he said, to her surprise. “In old places in the Refuge, from times so long gone, no one has any memory of when the carvings were created.”

She hitched herself up on the counter so she could continue looking at the mark that no longer terrified, but compelled. “Any hint as to its meaning?”

“No. I asked Jessamy once, and she said she’d looked in the texts herself and found no mention of them. ‘Perhaps they are an enigma left behind by our ancestors to inspire us to search for knowledge,’ was what she said to me.” Shifting into the space between Elena’s legs, he was patient as she traced the vibrant, living mark with her fingertips.

“It’s truly beautiful.”

Raphael raised an eyebrow. “Many would say it’s savage.”

“Savage can be beautiful.” It suited him, her archangel whom she’d seen fight the reborn with raw ferocity, his twin blades moving so fast, she’d wanted only to watch him. “I don’t think there’s any longer any question that you’re evolving.”