Archangel's Legion (Guild Hunter #6)(74)

“Deacon made her a miniature crossbow.” The look on Sara’s face was an odd mix between horrified and proud as she said, “Zoe’s a crack shot already. Thank God her ‘bolts’ have sponge heads or we’d all be dead several times over.”

“You know she’ll have every hunter in the Guild, and if I have my way, every angel and vampire in the Tower, looking out for her.”

Sara brightened. “There is that . . . though it’ll probably drive her to rebellion. We must fine-tune our cunning plans to insulate her from danger.”

The subject of their machinations raced back right then, breathless with excitement. In her little fist was a feather of deep brown edged with black. “Angel,” the little girl said, stroking her finger gently over the filaments she’d taken care not to crush.

“Well done, baby.” Beaming, Sara crouched down again. “Do you want me to keep it safe for you?”

Sara didn’t speak again until Zoe had returned to her play, and when she did, her words were heavy with concern, her face solemn. “Vivek’s going to need us after he wakes up. I can’t bear to think he might have to keep his distance.”

Neither could Elena. “I’ve got an idea on how we can make sure he has that support without him violating his oath to Raphael and the Tower.”

Two hours later, she tracked Aodhan to the top of one of the massive towers of the George Washington Bridge, his legs hanging over the side as he sat atop the metal frame, and his eyes on the traffic below. He’d have been a hazardous distraction had it been a sunny day, but the overcast sky kept the sunlight from refracting off him, the drivers unaware they were being watched.

She thought about how to bring herself down safely on the relatively narrow surface, and managed it on her second attempt. “Not bad.” Grinning, she didn’t draw attention to the fact that Aodhan’s hand had shot out to grab her when it appeared she might slip and fall. Automatic though it had no doubt been, it was a sign the angel’s dislike for touch wasn’t so deeply rooted as to trump his instinct to protect.

“Your balance is excellent,” Aodhan said, his expression thoughtful, “but you need to strengthen the muscles used to hold a low hover.”

“Any specific exercises?” she asked, happy to learn anything that would make her more efficient in the air.

“Yes.” Attention returning to the passing traffic, he added, “I can teach you.”

Curious as to what had him so captivated, she took a seat beside him, careful to ensure their wings didn’t brush. “Are you looking for someone?”

A shake of his head. “I find myself fascinated by the fact that even though the river was full of blood less than a day past, it appears to be business as usual for those who call this land home.”

Elena laughed. “New Yorkers are a tough breed, Aodhan.” Reaching back, she tightened her ponytail. “Kick us and we might go down, but we’ll come back up with fury in our eye and grit in our souls.” She loved the bloody-minded strength of her city. “No outsider will ever see us cry.”

Eyes of shattered glass met her own, her face reflected back at her in startlingly beautiful splinters. “I haven’t forgotten our talk of fear and aloneness,” he said, before shifting his gaze toward Manhattan. “You and this city teach me much about coming back after pain and fear. You’re right—I’ve licked my wounds long enough.”

Stunned at the openness with which he’d referred to his emotional scars, she went with her gut. “We’re all allowed time to curl up and recover from shock or hurt. But if it goes on too long, it begins to eat away at you.” Elena knew that from experience, her angry pain where Jeffrey was concerned having left her with indelible scars of her own. “It’s better to face the pain, neutralize the acid of the memories.”

“And if that fails? If I fall again?”

“You will,” she said, because the truth was a far better weapon against the darkness than any false hope. “Over and over. Sometimes, it’ll get so brutal that curling up and hiding again will seem the better choice.” She thought of the way she’d wanted to shut down in the aftermath of the nightmare in Amanat, of the exhilarating, hot-blooded knife fight that had followed. “Don’t give in, Aodhan, because you can’t imagine the glory that waits on the other side. Fight to see it; fight to own it.”

His responding words held an undertone of heart-piercing joy she’d never before heard from him. “It was worth the risk to play a game with my friend again,” he said, the diamond-coated strands of his hair brushing against his cheekbone in the gentle wind. “Until I threw that ball at Illium over the river, I didn’t understand I hadn’t felt alive for over two hundred years.”

A companionable silence fell between them for the next few minutes, until Aodhan said, “You searched me out on purpose?”

“Yes. I wanted to ask you something.” Her eyes on his profile, his skin—alabaster lovingly caressed with fine gold—flawless. “Does Vivek belong to you? Since you Made him?”

Shaking his head, he said, “All vampires belong to the archangel in the territory where the vampire is Made. Supervisors are chosen from among the senior angels.”

Damn. “So I’m too young to supervise a vampire?”